Teen Spirit
by Electrical Nerd
Summary: Narration and excerpts from a journal intertwine to present Charlotte Johanssen's life as a cynical girl of 14 and her incursion in the world of sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

_Why do we always agree to meet at the Rosebud? Is it because Ness has a secret crush on Logan? There he is, wiping the counters. You'd think a guy gets tired of working the same job for six years, but no. 19 and the guy still wipes counters. In the summer, at least. When he comes back from college. I wonder what he does. Probably football scholarship or something. The guy's never exactly been a light bulb. He was a pain when he used to baby-sit me._

"Still writing in that stupid journal?"

I looked up from my writing – that's a Thomas Hardy poem, by the way – as Vanessa Pike slid into the booth, on the opposing bench. She was grinning, the fine metal of her braces gleaming in the artificial light of the Rosebud.

_Vanessa is a poet, and yet, she always calls my journal stupid._

"I'm analyzing the pros and cons of your possible crush on Logan Bruno," I replied.

Vanessa's face fell. She hid her eyes with her hands – her squarish, pale hands. The Pikes' skin is so weird. Creamy and white, like a multitude of beads of grease glued together by freckles.

"What does it say? Do you think he might take-me-out-to-the-ball-game?"

_Vanessa is my best friend, but she does have a horrible singing voice. _

"I'm saying that your singing is the perfect match for his 40-watt intelligence."

_My voice drones. It always does. When I'm not whispering, it's like a monotonous, uniform sound. Like the sound of a cardiac monitor after someone dies. _

Vanessa giggled as Logan approached our table to take her order. I had already ordered: a chicken burger with fries was resting in front of me, half-eaten. The creamy white – which bore an odd resemblance to the mayonnaise in my burger – turned to bright red, and Logan wrote down "gr-gr-illed ch-ch-eese a-and a ah-ah va-vanilla milkshake" on his notepad.

_Vanessa isn't usually shy around guys. Maybe Logan makes her nervous because he used to baby-sit for us. Maybe Logan makes her nervous because she does have a crush on him._

_Or maybe she thinks he's an idiot and she was pretending to be intimidated because that's how girls usually act around him._

_Yeah, I think that's it. _

As Logan left, Vanessa leaned forward over the table and started whispering:

"Look, Haley is there."

Haley Braddock was sitting at the counter, fiddling with the straw of her milkshake. Her long blonde hair was curling on her shoulders - _exit, the rat-tail_ - and her heart-shaped lips were the exact color of the cherry still resting on the top of her milkshake. She crossed her legs as Logan walked by, the movement revealing the skin of her thighs. He gave Vanessa's order to the cook and resumed his wiping, just in front of Haley.

"Does he know he's been wiping that part of the counter for five minutes?" Vanessa asked.

"Well, he's also been drooling on the counter for five minutes, so I guess it's a fair trade."

Logan leaned on the counter, flexing his muscles. Vanessa hid her eyes again.

"Oh my God! He didn't actually do that, did he?"

"I'm afraid he did," I said.

"I want to die," Vanessa moaned.

"I hate Haley."

"You hate everything."

Vanessa smiled proudly. I laughed. A short, dry laugh that sounds more like a cough than an indication of amusement. This is how I laugh.

_"You hate everything!" Vanessa knows. She knows everything about me. She's my best friend. She knows I'm seeing Dr. Reese because my mom doesn't understand that I am not sweet, but cynical, and that I am not depressed, but realist, and that blind optimism is not an option. I'm seeing Dr. Reese because I don't want to become a cheerleader, because my life doesn't revolve around who's going to take me to Homecoming and because I'd rather play guitar than go out with friends._

_She sent me to Dr. Reese because she thinks I hate everything._

_That's not true._

_I don't hate everything. I don't hate music; I don't hate literature; I don't hate Vanessa; I don't hate my father._

_I hate pretty much everything else, though._

"I still have to see Dr. Reese this year," I said.

"Why?"

"I haven't been able to tell her what she wants to hear. 'Charlotte hasn't made a lot of progress in six months', she told my mother. 'She's a very intelligent child, but she doesn't…"

Logan and his sense of tact interrupted me. I'm sure they teach waiters how to interrupt conversations when they have their training. He cheerfully dumped Vanessa's food in front of her and said:

"You're seeing Dr. Reese, Charlotte? Mary Anne went to see her a couple times, back when we were dating. I think she's good."

"Is that why Mary Anne dumped you?" I asked casually.

"What do you mean?" Logan blinked his eyes.

"Hey, Ness, isn't it bright in here?"

Vanessa nodded her head.

"Awfully bright. I wonder what happened. They're normal neons, up there."

"Oh, I know!" I said. I turned to Logan, my hand shielding my eyes like a visor. "Logan is blinding me!"

"He's too bright!"

"What?" Logan blinked his eyes again.

We burst out laughing.

"You guys are crazy," Logan said, shaking his head. "Typical fifteen year-old girls."

_Actually, I'm fourteen. Vanessa is a year older than me, but, starting tomorrow, we're both Sophomores. That's because I skipped half a grade when I was seven. I'm still grateful for that._

_Logan still talks about us with great fondness. He doesn't realize we've been mocking him, that we don't care about him, and that we think he's stupid. To him, we're still those cute girls he used to sit for. To us, he's the guy who saw us cry and throw tantrums and get hurt. We can't possibly have fond memories of him_.

"So, school starts tomorrow," I droned, twirling a frie in my mayonnaise.

"Yesh," Vanessa said. Her mouth was full of grilled cheese.

_Highly unattractive. Bits of orange industrial cheese on her thin lip. I don't know that we can call Vanessa a pretty girl. Most of the guys in our grade certainly wouldn't say so. Vanessa is sturdy. You can guess just by looking in her eyes when she eats. Even when she's chewing on this chemical waste they call cheese, she looks like she is in heaven. Heaven behind glasses – those are Vanessa's blue eyes when she eats. And her hair is an odd color, hesitating between light brown and bland red, too thin and curly only at the tips. She didn't really grow up since elementary school. Her breasts are huge – not like mine – and they rest on the table while she eats. They're not sexy like Haley's, though. They're breasts that wouldn't be so huge if she lost twenty pounds and grew up five inches. They stick out under her red t-shirt, but somehow, you would rather be looking at something else._

_I'm not a guy, though._

_But Vanessa doesn't care about guys. She cares about writing, school, and poetry._

_And yet, I spent a paragraph describing her breasts._

_Something is wrong in our society._

_I hate our society. _

"We'll be in English together for sure," I said. We reviewed the classes we would have together about a hundred times.

"Yep. Honor's English, here we are. What do you think we'll be reading?"

Vanessa finally swallowed her cheese. Her hand dovee into her plate for another bite.

"No idea. Hopefully something I _haven't_ read."

_Last year I had read everything on the reading list. I was bored. The questions were stupid. Vanessa and I kept passing notes about the teacher's wig, and I still managed to get an A+ for the class. _

"I'm wishing for some Emily Dickinson."

"Emily Dickinson would be nice. Did you know that her meter is such that most of her poems fit the melody of "Yellow Rose of Texas"?"

My dad taught me that. All my dad talks about is literature.

"Robert Frost would be nice, too. Or Eliot."

Vanessa frowned.

"Eliot is hard."

I shrugged.

_We're fourteen and fifteen, and discussing literature. Right now, Haley is probably talking about the car her parents are going to offer her once she turns sixteen. Or about the cheerleading tryouts. Or about Paris Hilton. And Logan looks interested. He wouldn't be interested in talking about Eliot. He probably doesn't even know who Eliot is._

_No wonder we don't have any friends_.

I checked my watch.

"I should probably get going."

"It's only six-thirty," Vanessa pointed out.

"I know, but you know my mom."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. _She knows my mom._ She pulled a fresh twenty dollar bill out of her pocket.

"Dinner's on me."

_Vanessa baby-sits. I admire her patience. Even if my biggest dream, when I was eight, was to be a member of the Baby-sitters Club, I realize now that baby-sitting is possibly the worst job you can ever wish for. I wouldn't carry Eleanor Marshall on my back if my life depended on it._

_I hate kids_.

Vanessa left a penny on the table as a tip, and we left the Rosebud, giggling. Logan didn't even notice; he was still talking to Haley.

_Why do college guys go for high school girls? If I were in college, I wouldn't be thinking about anything high school._

_I hate high school_.

Vanessa and I parted on the corner of Rosedale and Spring, making faces about the prospect of going back to school, though we both knew that high school hell was better than staying at home hell.

_At home, Vanessa has no privacy. She and Nicky got lucky when their parents decided to renovate the rec room into two very small bedrooms. What they didn't tell them was that the walls were actually going to be thinner than cardboard. We always hear Nicky masturbate. Somehow, he seems to always be masturbating when I'm there._

Vanessa can't come over to my house when my mom is there. Not that my mom dislikes Vanessa. She just thinks that I should rather go out with other friends, rather than spending all my time with one best friend. So when Vanessa is home, she bugs me even more, and we can't have a private conversation. Plus, when my mom and Mrs. Braddock meet at the grocery store, she always begs Mrs. Braddock to invite me over so I can be with Haley. I don't want to be with Haley.

_I hate Stoneybrook. The town is way too small. _

xxx

_My guitar is my baby. I started playing when I was eight. The first thing I learned for real was "Stairway to Heaven". Then, I proceeded to more recent stuff. When I turned 12, my parents offered me an electric guitar. I think they still regret it to this day._

_My father taught me the bases, but I took classes too. Now, I'm outplaying my dad by far, and I dropped out of classical guitar classes two years ago. I have long fingers, and the tips are rough and hard. I avoid soaking my fingers for too long. I take care of my nails._

_I'm a guitar player._

_When I hit the strings, the entire world fades away. Reading has the same effect, but the difference with music is that my entire body feels it. I love the pressure of the instrument on my knee, the warmth of it on my stomach, the strong, yet fragile presence of the strings under my fingers. When my guitar howls, my entire body resonates._

_I could play guitar all night. _

"Charlotte, dear, are you busy?"

A pencil between my teeth, I was trying to write a new song. I was bent over my acoustic guitar, trying to work my way through an opening that was so far pretty bland. My mother walked in without knocking. She made me jump, and I dropped my guitar pick.

"What does it look like?" I retorted, setting the guitar aside to pick up my plectrum.

_Big mistake_. My mother, Dr. Peggy Johanssen, sat down next to me on my bed. She stroked my hair while I sighed.

"What did you do today?"

"I went to the Rosebud with Ness."

"That was an hour ago. What did you do before that?"

_I think my mom secretly attends conversation classes. Or she took journalism in high school. She thinks that asking questions will eventually inspire me to confide in her. She thinks that, by looking interested, she actually becomes interesting._

_She's not. She's busy, stressed out, awkward. She wants to care, but she doesn't know how._

_I don't need her. _

"I hung out."

"I wish you'd go out more."

_"I wish you'd go out more." "I wish you wouldn't be so antisocial." "Why don't you try to make a few more friends, Charlotte?" "What happened to your friend, Haley?" "Charlotte, isn't there some kind of social event at your school tonight? Why aren't you going?"_

_Six hundred versions of the same question, and she never gets tired of it. _

"Mom, I was working on a song."

My mother's face closed up. Literally. Her lips became a thin line, her brows knitted together, and her eyes were shut. Probably in despair.

"I came to tell you that Becca called."

"I'll call her back sometime."

I was already reaching for my guitar. My mom stopped me by getting hold of my arm.

"I think you should go over to the Ramseys' and spend some time with Becca. She's your best friend."

"Vanessa Pike is my best friend."

"Still, one should never give up on a good friend."

_I know where this is going. My mom thinks Becca is made of gold._

"Becca isn't my friend anymore."

The phone rang before mom could add anything. _I have a phone in my room. It's pretty useless, since the only person who calls me is Ness, and she prefers email. So do I._

_I hate the telephone_.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Becca! Sure, she's here. So, you're starting high school tomorrow? How are you feeling about it?"

_Sometimes, I wonder whether my mom is a doctor or a psychiatrist._

"Absolutely, she'll be there in a minute. Say hi to your mom for me."

She hung up and looked at me with an expression that looked like trouble. Trouble for me.

"Becca wants you to come over so you can help her with her clothes."

_It's a good thing I love sarcasm, because my mom offers so many opportunities for it. It would be a waste if I didn't._

"And because this is a free country, you decided I'd go over without asking me?"

My mother sighed and her hands dropped into her lap.

"How many times will I have to tell you, Charlotte, that Becca is one of the best friends that you'll ever have and she needs you right now."

A sensation of déjà vu overwhelmed me. _I was eight. My favorite baby-sitter had just moved away, and a new family had come to live in her house. My mother had baked something for them. I can't remember what it was. She took twenty minutes of her precious time to convince me that going over to Stacey's house wasn't going to kill me. She promised me I would get a friend for life if I went._

_Come to think of it, my mother has always been pushy. _

"I don't get a choice, do I?"

"I'm afraid not."

Soon enough, I was making my way through the cedar hedge with a torchlight. September was just around the corner, and the dark was rising even though it was still early. The Ramseys' backyard was quiet. I ran to the backdoor, hoping to be out of this torture as soon as possible.

Jessi opened the door. She was all smile and hugs. _Jessi is a very touchy person. Maybe it's the dance background, but she always hugging, smiling and embracing people. She loves everybody. She is a Senior, now._

_I think Jessi pretends to be happy all the time because she doesn't really have close friends. She feels lonely. Ever since Mallory left for boarding school, she's been trying to find someone to cling to._

_Unfortunately for me, tonight, she has decided that she should cling to Charlotte Johanssen._

"Charlotte! Come in, come in! It's been a while since you came over… Becca is so nervous, I can hear her pacing in her room." (She put her arm around my shoulder, guiding me to the living room.) "She said she didn't want my help… She thinks I'm not cool enough or something. You're cool, though. I like your sweater. Where did you get it?"

"Um, Jessi? I'm here to see Becca."

_Or no one at all._

"Sure, sure… Well, she said I should stay out of her room. You know the way. I'll be in the living room if you need me. Mama and Daddy are out, and Aunt Cecelia is downstairs folding laundry."

She looked at me with puppy-dog eyes, but I didn't invite her to Becca's room. I knew better than finding myself with both Becca and Jessi.

"Char!" Becca screeched when I walked in her room. Just like her sister, she tried to hug me. I was quick enough to escape her embrace.

_Every time I see Becca and Jessi, I'm struck by the difference between the two. Maybe it's the dancing, but they're so different. Jessi has long limbs, while Becca is squarish. Neither of them have breasts, but Jessi's torso is gracious. Becca looks like a gnome. She is in the awkward teenager phase: her jaw is covered with acne, her hair is greasy, and her arms are too long. Sometimes, I pity her. High school won't be easy_.

"Tell me, how is high school? Are there lots of cute guys? Do you think I can be part of a team?"

"High school is fine," I said, sitting down on her bed. "As long as you don't try too hard."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Becca was rummaging through her wardrobe, throwing blouses and pants out. She finally came up with a short blue skirt. A very short blue skirt.

"Nothing." I smirked.

_Becca is officially part of the same category as Logan: clueless_.

"I'm thinking of wearing this. What do you think? I want to impress Derek Masters. Maybe this year he'll notice me."

_I think Derek Masters is a jerk. But I'm not saying anything. Who cares if Becca is too dumb to get a clue?_

"Will you introduce me to your friends, Char? I want to hang out with cool Sophomores. Maybe Haley will let me in the cheerleading team?"

"Um. Haley and I aren't exactly friends."

"No?" Becca's eyes were huge. Surprised.

"Actually, come to think of it, I'm not sure you should get advice from me. I'm not Miss Popularity at Stoneybrook High."

_That's probably all I can say to make her feel better_.

"No?"

_Becca thinks I'm cool?_

"No."

"But Haley and you were friends. We were all friends."

"That was in elementary school. People change. Haley, especially, changed."

"Well, she's head of the cheerleading squad. She can't be that bad. I'm sure she'll talk to me. And then I can really blend in."

_On account of an old friendship? Ah-ah. Think again. Queen Haley Braddock, speaking to a lowly Freshman?_

_And if all Becca wants is to blend in, I'm outta here_.

"I'd better get going. I'm sure the blue skirt is perfect for what you're aiming at."

"Thanks, Char."

xxx

When I got home, my father was sitting in the living room, with the radio turned on, and a book in his hands. If I were allowed only a picture to describe my dad, that would be the one. He was always neglecting our comfortable sofa for the straight chair in a corner, and always put his book open on the table. A mug of coffee was next to his right hand.

_I love my dad_.

"Hey, dad," I said, walking in the living room.

My dad doesn't love me, though.

"Hello, Charlotte."

I kissed the top of his head, and he immediately froze. _Not only is dad not the most affectionate person in the world, but lately, it feels like he doesn't even want to look at me anymore._

"What are you reading?"

He turned to look at me, but not directly, so that my eyes only met the dark frame of his glasses. _My father and I look nothing alike. He has thin, blonde hair and blue eyes. I look like my mother: thick, dark hair and dark hazel eyes. I don't even wear glasses. _

" _Mrs. Dalloway_ ."

"For the thirteenth time, at least."

"Sense of proportion, Charlotte."

_Almost everything that comes out of my father's mouth is from a book. He's an engineer, but, really, he should have been a professional reader. We never hear anything about his work. It's all about books, books, books._

_My father doesn't have feelings. _

"Well, I should go to bed."

"Mmmmm."

_He won't even say goodnight to me_.

I managed to avoid my mother as I climbed up to my room. I put on my P.Js, brushed my teeth and headed to bed. I was tired, and tomorrow was the first day of school.

But as I slid under the covers, I remembered something. I flicked the ceiling lamp on, reached for my guitar and for the sheet on which I had written the song. I strummed the chords ever so slightly, and quickly wrote a set of notes. Then, satisfied, I shut the lights, and went to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

_Catholic schoolgirl meets atheism. This is how I would describe my style. Not that I really have a style. A style demands too much. I just pick whatever I like in stores. I don't stick to a particular place; there is nowhere in Washington Mall that I would rather be found dead than caught buying stuff from. _

_Today, even though it is nearing 86 outside, I'm wearing a black turtleneck with a matching black skirt. And I put on boots. Just like every other teenager who thinks he is an anticonformist, I own Doc Martens. It's a bit of cliché, but I need to play the part everybody expects from me._

_I am Charlotte the Dark, the Lady without a Smile. The alien._

_Or so they say._

I met Vanessa in front of the massive bunker that constituted our high school. Surrounded by high metal fences topped by barbed wires, it felt more like a prison than a place of education.

"You'd almost expect the sky to be grey above the school," said Vanessa.

She was looking at the building with a gloomy expression. I felt quite the same way.

"Well, it's great to be back."

_That's what Dr. Reese calls my mechanisms of defense. She says I'm being sarcastic so that I don't have to reveal my true feelings about anything._

_I say that people are probably clever enough to realize that my sarcasms mean the exact opposite of what I'm thinking._

"Charlotte, Vanessa!"

_Well, maybe not all of them._

Becca came running towards us, her short blue skirt flapping on her short thighs. There was nothing sexy in her legs, nor in her skin-tight tank top. Blue eye shadow was spread on her eyelids, and her bright lipstick only found match in the pimples on her jaw.

"Um, Becca, did Jessi help you with your make up?" Vanessa asked tactfully.

Becca shook her head proudly.

"Nope! Aunt Cecelia said I could only wear make up once I start high school, so here I am! I want to do _everything_ on my own."

Vanessa and I exchanged a look. And then Vanessa started giving shifty glances around: our reputation might not be the best, but we didn't want to be caught hanging out with an excited freshman like Becca.

"Well, I need to find Haley. Do you guys know where she is?"

"I haven't seen her, but usually she hangs by the boys' locker room," said Vanessa.

_Vanessa is too nice, sometimes. Having seven brothers and sisters teach you about tolerance._

Becca thanked us, waved, and hurried through the front doors. Vanessa and I looked at each other again.

"She doesn't seriously think that Haley will _talk _to her, does she?"

"I think someone might have forgotten to tell her how high school works."

_I don't know if it's high school as a microcosm of society, or if it's just because Stoneybrook High is crammed with tyrants, but the social order in our school is something that can never be disturbed. Vanessa and I have the second-lowest rank possible. We don't get shoved or abused because people want our homework so they can copy them. But we're usually ignored, denied the right to sit at the good tables by the window in the cafeteria, and we're not invited to any parties. It's fine that way, too. We aren't any more interested in them than they are in us._

Vanessa laughed, shaking her head, and grabbed me by the elbow:

"Let's go get our schedules."

_The first day of school in SHS is usually a mess. A pandemonium, like Vanessa's sister would say. (The word 'pandemonium' was invented by John Milton – another lesson from my dad.)_

_Here's a portrait of the first morning of the school year at SHS: the cafeteria is emptied of all its tables, save for eight: two for each grade. The students are divided according to their last name, and wait in line. Those who have friends chat happily about their summer, while those who don't anxiously wait to see if they made it to Honor's classes. (Of course, they have no friends precisely because they worry about that sort of thing.) The fact that teenagers are usually _incapable _of waiting in line has never been taken into consideration by the administration, which rather appoints teachers to deal with discipline. Some kids – always the same, year after year – start wreaking havoc, simply because it is a faster way to get your schedule. They get sent to detention, have a talk with their homeroom teacher and get sent to class with their schedule in hand._

_When you do get to the end of the line, you usually meet a cross-looking Senior, who proves he or she has made the most out of their education by not knowing their alphabet: you have to spell your name at least twice before they can find your file in their boxes. They hand you a schedule, you realize you're not with any of your friends in any of the fun classes, and you head over to class, crestfallen, for another exciting year at Stoneybrook High School._

Belonging in the A-M line, I parted with Vanessa, who headed for the much shorter N-Z. I looked around, trying to conceal my boredom. _Actually, why should I try to conceal it? _Freshmen were jumping up and down, talking a mile a minute. I could see Becca ahead of me in the line next to mine. She was trying to engage a conversation with Nicky Pike, who looked like he wished to be anywhere but there.

Nobody was talking to me.

"It's J-O-H-A-N-S-S-E-N," I said, when I got to the table.

"Sorry, what's that? I couldn't hear."

I recognized Elise Coats, who I often saw in Jessi's backyard, two or three years ago. We even talked. She didn't recognize me.

_That's what I get for having too good a memory. People don't remember me._

"Johanssen. J-O-H-A-N-S-S-E-N. Charlotte," I repeated louder.

"I know how to spell," she said dryly.

She handed me a typewritten sheet. I didn't even have time to look at it; Vanessa jumped behind me and screeched:

"What do you have in first period?"

_It's not like Vanessa to screech. I guess she is more concerned about not having any friends in her classes than I am._

"Algebra."

"Me too!"

"What do you have in second?"

Vanessa looked at me with a startled expression.

"What do you mean, what do you have in second? Don't you have English?"

I looked down at my sheet again. Second period: History.

"When do you have English, then?" Vanessa looked slightly panicked.

It turned out that I had English in fourth period. But there was something odd.

"Honor's _Junior _English?" Vanessa exclaimed.

"It is probably a mistake."

"Yeah. We have to tell someone. Let's go see Mrs. Fern. She's probably responsible for this mistake."

Mrs. Fern was the guidance counselor. She was always raving about my potential whenever I had to visit her in her office, but she also seemed to make it her personal duty to make me come out of my shell. _Maybe she is part of the let's-make-Charlotte-social club. Founded by Dr. Peggy Johanssen._

"No need. I'm sure it's a mistake. I'll just go to your classes. We're bound to have the same schedule. I'm a sophomore. It makes no sense for me to take Junior English just yet."

Vanessa pulled me by the arm.

"Char, don't be ridiculous. You can't go to your classes without changing your schedule."

"Ness…"

But Ness was already pulling me towards the administration office on the first floor. We passed cheery students, including a bunch of juniors who were sitting on the stairs. They had lighted a cigarette. I gulped, thinking that I would soon have to face that crowd every day of the week.

_It's just a mistake. How stupid can they get?_

Vanessa went straight to the secretary's desk, and said:

"We need to see Mrs. Fern."

The secretary looked like a stern vulture, jealously guarding the secrets of the SHS administration. She eyed Vanessa suspiciously.

"What is it about?"

"My friend… Go on, Charlotte, explain your problem."

I stepped forward, clutching my schedule. My hands were trembling.

"Well, um… I'm… um, I'm a sophomore, see, but… uh… I'm in Junior English and I think it is a mistake," I finished quickly.

I felt like there was a 50-pound burden on each of my shoulders. The secretary pushed her glasses back on her nose, frowning. She rummaged through some papers and came out with a pink memo.

"Wait a minute, are you Charlotte Johanssen? I forgot to phone your parents. Yes, yes, go on. Mrs. Fern will see you immediately."

Sighing, I headed for Mrs. Fern's office, Vanessa following close behind. The secretary got up from her desk, and barred Vanessa's passage with her plump body.

"Charlotte can go on alone, Miss. Why don't you sit down? Or better yet, go to class?"

_Vanessa can deal with adults, but she is incapable of defying authority. Even a false one like a secretary makes her wet her pants in fear. As soon as a grown up speaks a little firmly, she lowers her head, and becomes sweet, good-mannered Vanessa._

_I'm not like that._

_But then again, I never have to deal with authority._

"Oh, Charlotte, I'm glad you're here, glad." Mrs. Fern was a busy-looking woman, with curly hair that looked like Marge Simpson's, save for its rust-like color. She pulled out a file from under a pile, opened it, and held out a copy of my schedule. "You have noticed, I am sure, that you were placed in a Junior Honor's class in English."

I nodded.

"It isn't a mistake. I've been speaking with Mr. Lee – he was your teacher last year, right? (She checked her file) Right – and we both agreed that the sophomore curriculum in English is too easy for you. He thinks – and I agree – that you would gain immensely from being immersed in a class that is more challenging, and to have classmates that are closer to your level. Of course you will need to take the end-of-year examination in Sophomore English, but that should be a mere formality, right?"

_Mrs. Fern likes to hear herself talk._

"What do you think?"

"I thought… I thought I'd be with my friend."

She nodded, as though she had anticipated my answer.

"That is the other point: by joining the Junior class, you will be able to make new friends, people that maybe you feel closer to. This will indeed change many things in your life, Charlotte. Now, you don't want to be late for your class, do you?"

_She had no idea she would be right. I had no idea either._

Vanessa was waiting for me outside of the administration office. Leaning on the wall, she was reviewing her schedule again.

"What did they say? Are we in English together?"

I shook my head.

"It's all about new challenges and me making new friends." I rolled my eyes.

"But what about me?"

"Well, we'll still see each other in Algebra and between classes, right?"

"No, I mean… I got an A+ in English last year, too. Why didn't they put _me _in Junior English as well?"

"Maybe because you haven't read the whole of _Paradise Lost_?" I suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you think you're so great. Get over yourself! Having your dad read it to you in bed when you're five years old doesn't count, Charlotte," she replied dryly.

"Look, Ness, if you're so frustrated about it, why don't you go in there and ask Mrs. Fern to review your schedule?"

"Maybe I will."

The bell rang just as she spoke.

"Or maybe I won't." She smiled.

Still together, but not talking, we headed for our Algebra class together. There was still tension between us. I could feel it, like a thick and wet atmosphere that prevented me from breathing. Before we went into the classroom, Vanessa stopped me by putting a hand on my arm and said:

"Um… I'm sorry, Char. I know it's not your fault. You deserve it. Really."

"I'm sure you could have been in English with me," I said. "But, uh… I guess I… stand out more," I finished in a mutter. "And at least, you'll have an easy ride this year."

Vanessa seemed to brighten up at that idea.

"Yeah, and I can watch you suffer!" She hesitated. "We'll still be friends, right? We'll eat together at lunch even if we only have one class in common?"

"Vanessa, do you honestly think there is anyone else in this school, Junior or not, who wants to eat with me?"

xxx

_I hate how, in popular novels – especially _Harry Potter _– authors always complain that time slows down or speeds up because of certain events. Maybe it is because my life is steadily uneventful, but I had never experienced such modifications in my perception of time. (Because we all know that time is a perception, and nothing more.) That is, until I had to face my first junior class._

I could have sworn there were 135 minutes between the beginning of first period and the end of the third, but it actually felt like five. Vanessa barely had time to wish me luck, and I suddenly found myself trying to relax my breathing in front of a classroom door that looked just like every other door, but was somehow a million times more intimidating.

Inside, it was the same old thing: a loud buzzing sound in which none of the actual conversations that constituted it were audible, books stacked on desks that nobody wanted to crack open, and a general chaos in which I hardly felt welcome. Trying to blend in with the furniture, I quietly made my way to a desk in the row closest to the wall. I sat down at the third desk, and watched the other students. There were a few people I recognized, namely Vanessa's dreadful older brother Adam and his best friend Jeff Schafer.

_If I could pick any Pike triplet to be with in English, I would have chosen Byron, hands down. It's funny how the Pikes divide into two clans: the losers and the winners. Mallory, Byron, Vanessa and Nicky are the losers: Mallory is just an awful dork who is fortunately spending most of her time in that all-girls boarding school; Byron is fat and the chief editor of the SHS paper; and Nicky… well, Nicky is skinny and obsessed with masturbation. Then there are the winners: Adam is so cool because he spends half his time in detention with his cool surfer-dude friend (why am I being sarcastic in my own journal?); Jordan is the star player of the baseball team; Margo was president of the seventh grade last year, and will probably launch an even bigger political career this year; and Claire is the star of her drama class._

Adam turned his head and saw me. On his face sprawled a grin that I would have normally seen on the face of an evil kid who was about to tear the wings from a fly. It was a wolfish, sadistic grin. The grin that came with the prospect of finding someone interesting to tease.

"I didn't know this class was a day-care center," he said loudly.

Jeff shifted on his seat, and an identical grin sprouted on his face. A couple of girls looked at me and giggled. I rolled my eyes, and my brain stalled as I tried to come up with something intelligent to retort.

"You're such a baby you can't even talk yet? Gaga gogo?"

_Why, why, why do I have to look like I'm 12? It's already bad enough that I'm a year younger than my classmates… And why does my wit always go into hiding whenever I need it? Why do I always feel like my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth when I need to talk to people?_

_It's a good thing I don't cry anymore._

_Not that I feel like it or anything._

The bell rang as the teacher walked in, creating a double distraction. Adam snickered and didn't turn. I wasn't off the hook yet. _But then, would I ever? Didn't Mrs. Fern realize what a social nightmare skipping a class in high school was? What use would it serve, anyway? Junior English was probably too easy for me, too._

"Hey, I'm Mr. Probst, but you can call me Paul. Yes, that's Paul Probst. My parents didn't like me much." He was young, somewhere in his early thirties. I could already hear the girls behind me swoon. He took out a few books from his briefcase, but a knock on the door interrupted him.

A girl walked in hurriedly and slipped in the desk next to mine before Mr. Probst could say anything. A whiff of cigarette smoke made my nostrils prickle. I craned my neck to glance at her. In the "fresh out of rehab" look, she was perfect. Her bare arms were pale and as big as matchsticks. Her face was just as pale, and extremely small and bony: prominent cheekbones were just under large and lost blue-grey eyes, which were darkened harshly by black eyeliner and mascara. Dirty blonde hair was messily piled unto her head, half of it curling on her shoulders. I lowered my eyes and saw that she was wearing a white t-shirt with "fuck" written on it with black fabric paint, and ripped jeans. And, of course, combat boots.

_I didn't know her. I remembered seeing her, but I knew she probably wasn't in school very often. She didn't hang out in the cafeteria. She wasn't running for class president. She rarely walked the hallways laughing with friends. I didn't even know her name._

"Well, as I was saying…" continued Mr. Probst, and he took out a sheet from out of a folder. "Before I forget, is there a… Charlotte Johanssen? - right, Charlotte Johanssen - in the class?"

I raised my hand slowly and sank lower into my seat.

"Okay, good. Guys, this is Charlotte. She is a sophomore, but she will be taking English with us. I want to make sure you guys are nice to her."

A girl raised her hand.

"Why is she in our class, if she's a sophomore?"

Mr. Probst smiled at me before answering:

"Charlotte is exceptionally gifted in English, it seems." He looked rather skeptical about it. "This class is supposed to be a bigger challenge for her."

_I wonder whether he thinks that this class will also be too easy for me, or that I'm not smart enough to be skipping a grade._

_Oh well. I'll prove him._

"So, she's a Baby Einstein?" exclaimed Adam.

The whole class erupted with laughter. _The good thing about it is that I don't have to worry about being less mature than my fellow 11th-graders anymore._

"I don't think Einstein was quite as gifted in other areas, though" Jeff said, miming breasts with his hands. "Right, Baby?"

"Oh, shut up," the girl next to me said.

"Miss, please, remain polite."

"And this guy shouldn't? Who does he think he is, with his sexists remarks? Do you feel threatened in your pathetic masculinity just because she's smart?"

"Wait, I…" Jeff started.

"Guess what, people," the girl went on as if she hadn't heard anything. "Being smart gets you somewhere. Being an asshole doesn't. Make your fucking choice."

"Miss, please…"

"Being a bitch doesn't either," Adam jumped in. "Neither does freaking out about unimportant stuff."

"I'd like to know how unimportant your stupid immature comments are to Charlotte."

Everybody had been following the exchange between the girl and Adam and Jeff as if they were looking at a tennis match. Now, they turned their attention to me and I suddenly wished for death.

"Hey, hey, guys…" Mr. Probst took advantage of my dumb silence to recapture his students' interest. "I won't tolerate name calling anymore. This is a literature class. We study words for their beauty."

I surprised myself. I raised my hand.

"But don't words have a destructive power as well?"

xxx

Class ended and all the students got up from their seats with sighs of relief. Mr. Probst had talked for longer than he had intended about the power of words, thanks to my spot-on question.

_I don't think he is skeptical about me anymore._

I was quite relieved myself, as I could now slip back into the jaded sophomore that I usually was. I gathered my books and headed for the cafeteria, where Vanessa was probably waiting for me. I needed to ask her how she had managed to grow up with an ape in her house.

But out-of-rehab girl stopped me in the corridor.

"Hey," she said, looking down at my feet. "That was cool, what you said in class."

I felt my face grow hot.

"Thanks," I murmured. "And thanks for defending me."

"What?"

"Um. Thanks." I said louder. "For defending me."

"Oh. Well, those jerks had it coming." She shrugged.

"Yeah."

"What're you up to now?"

"Um. Lunch. My... my friend is waiting for me." In a bold, daring move, I added: "Want to join us?"

She shook her head.

"No thanks. I never hang out in the cafeteria. The scenery hurts my eyes. Besides, I've got to have my smoke."

This girl was intriguing. I was somewhat disappointed that she didn't join us, but she was already pulling out a Benson and Hedges out of her pack.

"Well, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow, then." She saluted. It was a weird gesture.

"Yeah."

She turned and started heading in the opposite direction.

"Hey, wait!" I called.

"Hmmm?"

"What's your name?"

"Oh, forgot to tell you." She extended her hand. "Hey, I'm Kerry Bruno."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

_I don't really mind seeing Dr. Reese. Of course, it blocks my Thursday afternoons, but what else would I be doing? Reading, hanging out with Ness… Rather, I get to talk about my feelings – or lack thereof. We sit in this tiny office, furnished in mahogany and decorated with soft blue tones. There's a Kleenex box next to my chair. I'm not lying on a couch. I'm sitting so that I could be watching Dr. Reese in the eye, if I didn't keep mine lowered down, on the carpet._

_She asks questions about my life, and I'm supposed to answer them with honesty. She usually doesn't probe, unless something I say inadvertently catches her attention. Then I get the usual "why did you say that?" and "why do you feel that way" and I start ice-skating._

_I think she tells everything to my mother. They're friends – colleagues, more like. Whenever mom encounters a teenage patient with psychological problems – a near-overdose, for example, or wounds caused by domestic violence – she refers them to Dr. Reese. I'm sure Dr. Reese doesn't _mean _to tell my mother about me. It's just that I have no trouble picturing my mother questioning my shrink when she sees her in the corridors of the hospital. (Not that Dr. Reese's office is in the hospital. I'm not that sick in the head. She just visits the aforementioned patients.)_

_I try to tell her as little as possible, but the sad truth is, I've got nothing to hide. Nothing at all._

"So, Charlotte," Dr. Reese asked me the Thursday following my admission in the junior class, "how do you feel about being placed in a higher class?"

I shrugged. I always did. I shrugged so much in Dr. Reese's office, my shoulders hurt after my sessions.

"I'm rather curious," she went on. I admired her courage. "Why would they put you in a junior class?"

"Because I'm too good. Plus, my guidance counselor is obsessed by me and she wants me to make new friends."

Dr. Reese wrote something on a pad. _Exacerbated sense of self. Thinks the world revolves around her._

"And did it work?"

I shrugged again. Kerry and I said "hi" at the beginning of each class, and "bye" at the end, but, in between, we didn't speak. I never saw her anywhere either. If our meeting promised the beginning of new friendship, I realized now that Kerry was probably too cool for me. She hadn't jumped to my defense because she liked me; she was always arguing in class: with Adam, with Jeff, with Mr. Probst… I had only been the cause of the day. There was a new one to defend each week.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me about your life, right now?"

Dr. Reese almost sounded like she wanted to give up.

"I've got nothing to say," I said plainly.

"And why do you think that is?"

"You want to know why? I'm bored. Completely, totally bored. There's nothing going on. Nothing happening. Almost nobody to talk to. Nothing ever changes in school. I'm so bored, it feels like I'm waiting to die."

More scribbling. _Suicidal tendencies._

"Have you thought about doing something about this boredom?"

"What am I supposed to do?"

Dr. Reese tapped her pencil on her pad. "Well… You could begin by talking to more people…"

"Like that's going to get me anywhere," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Charlotte, we have already discussed this many times…"

"I know, I know, I can't spend my whole life waiting for people to make moves."

"I'd like you to think about it this week. And try to do something about your boredom. Our time is up."

xxx

Boring remained boring until the first week of November. Homecoming came and went, leaving behind a crestfallen Becca, who hadn't managed to ask Derek Masters to the dance, and a Haley Braddock whose ego was now not only swollen up for simply being the most beautiful girl in school, but also brightly flashing red for being elected Homecoming princess.

Boring remained boring for Vanessa and I. Our only amusement was to compare notes in English, and see how different exactly was one grade from another. The sophomore class was discussing meter; we were talking about themes. They were reading Milton; we were reading 19th-century poetry. Other than that, Vanessa complained about being stuck with Sara Hill as a partner (her teacher believed in cooperation), and I complained about her brother – Vanessa's, not Sara's – who only stopped teasing when Kerry was in class. Which was not often. She rarely showed up for first-period class, and for the two after lunch. I wondered whether she skipped, and where she was going.

Fortunately enough, when it appeared that Mr. Probst, too, believed in cooperation and announced this "big project in teams of two", Kerry was seated right next to me, leaning on her elbow, looking bored. Adam and Jeff were quiet. Mr. Probst hopped in the class, looking a little _too _enthusiastic for 10 in the morning.

"Blake – "The Tyger"!" he exclaimed dramatically as he let his briefcase drop on the floor. "You've read the poem. We've talked about theme analysis. You've heard my lectures. Now the tables turn. The power shifts to you."

I smirked and looked at Kerry. She rolled her eyes at me.

"I don't feel like reading 30 essays about it," he admitted, sitting down on his desk. He drew his jeans-clad legs upwards and sat Indian-style casually. Mr. Probst was weird. "So I'm putting you in teams of two. That reduces the number of essays by half."

The class cheered. I didn't.

_"The Tyger" is a poem written by Blake about a tiger. There is a blacksmith creating the tiger._

_I don't want some dumb kid messing up my GPA. Dr. Reese would say I'm too quick to judge. Dr. Reese would say I should open up to others._

_I don't want some dumb kid messing up my GPA._

"So I'm reducing the boring work by half," Mr. Probst continued, "but that doesn't mean I'm letting you off the hook so easily. Each team will be responsible for creating – yes, _creating_, as in, using your own hands to make something – a piece that will reflect the themes of the poem. It can be anything: you can write a play, draw a picture, make a dance routine… The important thing is it must reflect the themes of the poem. In two weeks – I will let you know the exact date – each team will have to come up front and present this creative piece to the class. You will need to point out how your work of art is thematically linked to the poem."

_Ugh. Teamwork _and _an oral presentation?_

Kerry raised her hand.

"Can we decide who we want to partner with?" she asked in a dull, bored voice.

"Yeah, I'm leaving it up to you. I'd rather have fifteen masterpieces created by friends than fifteen messes created by enemies."

Mr. Probst left us the last ten minutes of the period to discuss our teams. Kerry immediately turned to me and said:

"Want to partner up?"

"Um. Sure."

"Cool."

"Yeah," I said. "Um. I've got to tell you, though. I don't perform very well, um… orally."

Kerry arched an eyebrow.

"You don't?" she said with a low chuckle.

"What?" _Is there something I'm not getting?_

"Never mind." She was still laughing silently. Her shoulders were shaking. With her dark make-up, she looked slightly dirty. A blue-brown spot was visible on her skin near the strap of her white tank top. _Who wears tank tops in November? _Even from where I was sitting, she smelled strongly of cigarette.

"So… Um… When should we brainstorm or something?" I asked.

"Brainstorm?" She still looked amused. It occurred to me that she was laughing at me.

_Yeah, no kidding._

"You know… Figure out what we want to do."

"I don't know… How about Thursday?"

"I can't on Thursdays," I said.

"We'll have to go to your house, then. Thursday is the only day the house is 'rents-free for me."

_What does it matter that her parents are there? It's not like we're throwing a party or importing drugs or hiding illegal immigrants._

_On second thought, would I really want to show of f my mother to anyone?_

"You can come over on Wednesday," I suggested, shrugging.

"Yeah. We can… brainstorm."

xxx

"You're actually _pairing up _with her?" Vanessa exclaimed, her mouth full of ravioli.

_I hate it when she chews with her mouth open. In the middle of the cafeteria, too._

_Sometimes, Vanessa hits on my nerves. Like when she wears her Mickey Mouse t-shirt. It's like she doesn't care at all what other people think. Or when she barges on in a conversation with people she barely knows. Just because they're talking._

_Or when she's being a snob towards people she never even talked to._

"Yeah, I am."

"I'd watch it if I were you, Char. Kerry Bruno is a skipping class gold-medalist. She is _never_ in school. She'll make you do the assignment alone."

"How come you know so much about her?"

"Adam dated her last year. They were detention buddies."

_Well, this explains that._

"I heard she had an abortion this summer."

"No way!"

"Yeah… Well, that's what Sara Hill told me today in class. Apparently, she was in the hospital for two days. Sara saw her when she visited her grandfather." Vanessa sighed. "I'd much rather talk about meter. Anyways. I hope you won't let her use you. Promise you'll say something, if you realize you're doing everything on your own?"

"Ness… It's not…"

"Char, I know you. Remember the science project with Shea Rodowsky in eighth grade? Just don't let yourself be used… That's all I'm asking."

_Vanessa is so take-charge. Nobody ever takes advantage of her. I guess that comes from growing up in a household with so many people. You learn to shout to be heard._

_Me? My mother is begging me to talk._

"Hey guys."

I turned my head and saw a brown paperbag drop on the table. Kerry drew a chair closer and sat down next to me.

_What is she doing here?_

"Hey," I said.

"Not cutting class today?" Vanessa asked icily.

"Nope." Kerry began rummaging through her bag and took out a pathetic bologna sandwich.

"Why?"

I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. _Vanessa is so blunt._

"Something came up and my boyfriend said I should rather be taking care of my education," she said sarcastically.

"What came up?" Vanessa wanted to know.

"Nothing you should know about." Kerry bit into her sandwich and grimaced.

"Scenery still hurts your eyes, then?" I asked.

"Definitely." She smiled and I smiled back.

"It's not so bad," Vanessa protested.

I looked at her. _Not so bad? We spent _hundreds _of lunch breaks criticizing the hospital-green walls and the smell of overcooked cabbage!_

"What do you guys have this afternoon?" Kerry asked.

"P.E. and Art," I said. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"I have History and French," Vanessa said.

"It so happens," Kerry started, putting down her sandwich and pulling out a keychain, "that I have my car today. Would you ladies like to pull a Thelma and Louise?"

I considered it for a moment. I had never skipped class. Somehow it had always seemed so _wrong_. I had always thought that at least some of the advance I had in school was due to the fact that I actually attended classes and took notes. _Another result of Peggy Johanssen's brainwashing. Throw away and destroy._

"I'm up for it," I said.

Vanessa looked at me with wide, surprised eyes. I got another shot of her ravioli as her mouth hung open.

"Great," Kerry said, crushing her paperbag. "Vanessa?"

"Charlotte, are you sure?" Vanessa whispered.

I nodded. I wasn't sure, not completely. I didn't want Vanessa to scare me into changing my mind, though.

"C'mon, Vanessa. Let me tell you something: we got our Independence in 1776, we fought a Civil War about a hundred years later, we dropped a bomb on the Japanese in 1945 and not much has happened since. _J'aime la fromage._ You've learned everything you would learn today."

"It's _le fromage._"

"Whatever. The point is, we're going to do something fun, and school isn't. It's a no-brainer, really."

Vanessa looked at me again. I held my breath, like a kid waiting for a parent's permission to go sleep over at a friend's house for the first time. I even smiled.

"Alright."

"Great," Kerry exclaimed. "Welcome to the dark side, ladies. Let's go."

She got up and dumped her crumbled paperbag in the wastebasket. I jumped up from my seat, with a weird sensation in my stomach. My bones felt too large for my skin. Kerry and I almost ran to the parking lot; Vanessa caught on us a little reluctantly.

"What do we do if we get caught?"

"You won't," Kerry replied. And suddenly, we were out in the November light. The sky was entirely grey, and the wind was bitter and cold, but there was an air of liberty in the trees pointing their empty branches to the sky. Or maybe I was imagining it all.

"It's really easy not to get busted for skipping class. Medical notes usually do the trick, especially for a one-timer. I'll give some to you – I stole a pad from my doctor when I was in the hospital this summer."

Vanessa gave me an insisting look.

"You look pale, Charlotte," Kerry went on. "I'd say you have strep throat."

"I had my tonsils removed when I was 9." I chuckled.

_Wait. Did I just chuckle?_

"Okay then. Oh… Did you know that gastroenteritis is roaming these days? Have you been throwing up?"

"Oh, loads. Buckets."

"Ew," muttered Vanessa.

_Not as disgusting as chewing your mouth open._

"Well, then, Charlotte Johanssen, I prescribe that you should stay home, lest you contaminate everybody in school with your virulent gastroenteritis. You have already contaminated Vanessa."

"She _is _a little green in the face," I said lightly, climbing into the car.

Kerry drove an old battered Chevrolet that was very far from the cool convertible in _Thelma and Louise_. Yet, I still felt elated, as though I could feel the wind through my hair as we left the parking lot of SHS.

"Where are we going?" I asked when I saw she was headed towards the exit for Stamford.

"Road trip. I don't know yet."

Vanessa was oddly silent. I nudged her (we were both sitting on the back seat) and whispered through clenched teeth:

"Lighten up, would you?"

"Charlotte, where _are _you? This isn't you." Her teeth were clenched as well.

"Maybe it's a me that's _relaxed _for once." _I wonder what Dr. Reese would make of it. Is Vanessa right? Am I not being myself? Am I acting like Kerry? Do I want to be like Kerry?_

_Whatever._

_I'm having fun. It's all that counts._

_I'm not bored. Not anymore._

_And it doesn't really matter that I skipped class…right?_

"So, ladies… Who makes your little heart beat at SHS?" Kerry asked loudly to cover the music that was playing from a cassette tape.

"No one," Vanessa scoffed.

"Yeah right. Alright, let me rephrase. Who's the cutest guy at SHS?" Kerry glanced at me from the rear view mirror.

I shrugged.

"Ness?"

"Oh, Derek Masters, definitely."

"The T.V. star? I'd have to agree with you. If he weren't a freshman, I'd totally be lusting over him."

"Derek Masters is a jerk," I said.

"Charlotte dated him when she was in 7th grade. He was her first kiss," Vanessa claimed.

"Really? I didn't know you had a sex-drive, Charlotte."

"I don't."

Kerry laughed.

"It's true that I have trouble picturing you together with Derek licking each other's face. How was it?"

_Like I was being vacuumed. Like someone was trying to suck in my whole being until I disappeared into nothingness._

_Clumsy. Awkward. Ugly._

I shrugged.

"What about you and my brother?" Vanessa wanted to know.

_I know why she jumped in. She knows talking makes me uneasy. She knows I don't like to think about Derek Masters._

"I don't what it is with you Pikes," Kerry said.

"What do you mean?" Vanessa's voice was no longer curious, but defensive.

"Is your sex-drive like, genetic or something? I mean… Okay, I shouldn't be telling this to girls your age but… Basically, all Adam ever did with me was try to hit a homerun, if you see what I mean."

"Adam had _sex_?" Vanessa exclaimed.

"The key-word is try. Maybe he had sex with other girls. But not with me." Kerry sounded rather proud saying that.

"I can't believe Adam had sex," Vanessa said under her breath. "But what does this have to do with my parents?" she asked in a louder voice.

"Well, your parents have what, eight kids, right? They probably enjoy sex a lot. I can totally picture them playing sex games when you guys are asleep at night."

"You're sick and twisted," Vanessa said aggressively.

_It's probably true. Vanessa's parents are always kissing each other, hugging, or mutually patting their behinds._

"Charlotte's parents on the other hand…" Kerry went on. "And I'm only saying this because they just have one child, I don't know them… But I'm sure that Charlotte's mother has a constant headache, and that she always goes to bed with a thick nightgown."

_Actually, I don't really know about my parents – what they do or say to each other when I'm not around. My mom is so stressed out, she has trouble sleeping; she often sleeps on the couch, especially when she's switching shifts. My father reads in bed until he falls asleep._

_I've never heard them make love._

_Which is just as well._

"What about _your _parents? It's all well to laugh at our families, but what about yours? You have one other brother besides Logan, right? Are you painfully normal? Are your parents having sex once a week, on Saturday nights?" Vanessa almost sounded angry.

Kerry's hands tightened on the wheel.

"I'd rather not talk about my family."

She pressed eject and flicked on the radio. The louder sound of a pop song filled the car, and Kerry brutally made a left and entered a small parking lot in front of a long building which, as far as I could see, was occupied by a café and a beauty salon.

"Are we getting makeovers?"

Kerry just rolled her eyes at Vanessa and pushed open the door of the café.

The place was quite dark. A loud jazzy music was playing from speakers, and clouds of smoke were hovering above some of the tables. It looked more like a bar than a café.

"Welcome to the artsy world, ladies," Kerry said, pulling out a chair from a table in a corner. "This is where the chic elite of Stoneybrook University gathers on Saturday nights."

She grimaced.

"It's a bit shabby, but they have good deals on beer and they don't ask for I.D."

I could see Vanessa's mouth moving; she was about to say something. I gave her a gentle kick on the shin. Fortunately, the arrival of the waitress prevented her from looking at me with indignant eyes.

"I'll have a hot chocolate," she mumbled.

"I'll…" I looked at Kerry and wondered what I should order. "Um. Cappuccino."

"Sorry, honey, didn't catch that. Can you repeat?"

"Um. Cappuccino."

_I've never drunk Cappuccino. Or any kind of coffee. My mom keeps me away from those things. Says it's not healthy._

"A Heineken for me," Kerry said.

The waitress soon came back with two cups and a green bottle.

"You're having _beer_?" Vanessa exclaimed.

Kerry shrugged.

"Well, yeah."

"But you're only 16."

"Shut up! You'll get me busted."

"You'd get what you deserve." Vanessa folded her arms on her chest.

"Look, I can have a beer if I want to."

As if to illustrate her point, Kerry took a long swig of beer. Vanessa got up.

"I'm calling a taxi."

"What?" I said. "Ness, wait…"

"There's no way I'm riding home with a drunk girl of _sixteen_."

"I won't be drunk," Kerry said. "It's like drinking water."

"Yeah right." Vanessa picked up her bag and marched towards the exit, leaving her hot chocolate on the table.

After raising an eyebrow in apology to Kerry, I ran after her. I felt somewhat responsible; I was the link between the two of them. It was my fault that Vanessa was stuck in Stamford.

"Come on, Vanessa, she probably knows her limits."

"I don't care if she has a sip or a bucket of beer," she replied. "What she is doing is illegal and I won't be a part of it. I'm calling a cab. And to say I skipped class for that…"

"Ness…"

"Are you coming with me?"

I hesitated. I felt good where I was. I felt alive. I felt reborn.

But I didn't want to abandon my old friend either.

"You think she's cool," Vanessa said in a disgusted tone. "You want to be like her."

"That's not true!"

"I know what you're thinking, Charlotte. Just leave me alone. I'll see you later." And with that, she headed for a phone booth, and I went back inside.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: I apologize for the long absence. College and life are irreconcilable. I can't promise I won't go away again, but I will certainly try to finish this story... sometime. In any case, thank you for your patience, and here's chapter four.

CHAPTER FOUR

_I'm lucky enough not to have to be ashamed of my room. It's one of the perks of being an only child, I guess. When I turned 13, my mom decided she would help me redecorate. Of course, she wouldn't allow black walls. Her idea of a nice room was butter-colored paint and lilac bedspreads. I painted everything white and covered most of the walls with posters of my favorite bands, except for where my bookshelves are. I have four of them, and they run for about half of the wall. My books are the only things that keep my room from looking like rockstar haven: my bedspread is a dark purple and velvety, straight from a 70's glam-rock video, and my guitars and CD towers take most of the space that is not occupied by my dresser, bed or desk. My mom never really liked my room, which only makes it a hundred percent more satisfying._

"Hey, cool room," Kerry said when she walked in.

I remained on the threshold, shy in my own territory.

"Thanks."

Kerry looked like a kid in a toy store: nose up in the air, eyes wide with amazement at the band posters and the guitars. Feeling ever so slightly more comfortable, I sat down on my bed, clutching my backpack, which contained my anthology of English literature and my notes on "The Tyger".

_We're in my room and we're supposed to work on our English project. How did this happen? Six weeks earlier, I would have never thought that Kerry Bruno, the school tramp, would be in my room to work on a Blake poem._

_I am not quite sure she's here to _work_, though._

"So, you like Nirvana?" Kerry was indicating my Kurt Cobain poster, just above my desk.

"Uh, yeah. They're okay. Overrated, but good when placed in context."

_Shut up, shut up!_

Kerry gave me a weird look.

"I think they rock."

I nodded. Nirvana indeed rocked. This wasn't what I meant. But before I could open my mouth to justify myself, Kerry went on:

"Hey, Char, if I tell you something, can you promise me you won't tell Vanessa?"

_Oh, so now we've reached the 'exchanging secrets' phase in our friendship? Things may be going a little too fast to my taste._

I smirked to myself, but, to be honest, I was intrigued. First, because I would have never expected Kerry would care about Vanessa knowing anything; second, because I never thought Kerry would have been the kind to share her secrets.

"Yeah, I promise," I said.

"It's about Thanksgiving, actually. My boyfriend's friends are throwing this huge party and it's going to be almost exclusively college students. I don't really want to go alone... Well, my boyfriend's going to be there, but you know, they're _his _friends and it's not the same... Do you want to go?"

"Me?" I asked stupidly.

"Yeah, you. I figured it'd be fun. But don't tell Vanessa about it. She'd be lecturing people, I'm sure she'd be a total drag."

I tried to imagine Vanessa telling a bunch of college students that drinking would interfere with their studying, and could only picture it too well.

But then I tried to imagine myself at a college party.

_All alone._

_By myself._

_With no one to talk to._

_A wallflower._

_Just like high school._

Rather than giving her a straight "no", I started fiddling with the zipper of my backpack and eventually pulled out my anthology.

"C'mon, Char... It'll be fun. It'll be like that time we went to Stanford, but with lots of cute guys and good music."

"But I don't know anybody who's in college. And I wasn't even invited."

"You know me. That's good enough."

_My mom would love Kerry, if it weren't for her dirty appearance and her rebellious attitude. And the cigarettes. She would love that she's encouraging me to be more social._

_And succeeding._

"Alright, I'll go," I finally said.

Kerry flopped down on my bed.

"Alright, great! You're gonna have the time of your life, I promise."

_Did I just make the biggest mistake in my entire life? Charlotte Johanssen, unable to say no. Out of the goodness of my heart, I'll spend an entire evening wishing I were curled up in my bed with a book._

To avoid being asked any more favors like this one, I flipped the pages of my book and found the page with "The Tyger". Kerry noticed what I was doing and groaned.

"Oh, that's right, the stupid project. Damn it."

"It's not that hard... I mean the essay part. 'The Tyger' is basically about creation... You know... 'What immortal hand or eye / Could frame thy fearful symmetry?' The question is, basically, is there a god?"

_Charlotte Johanssen, Ph. D. _

_Maybe now this means I'll feel comfortable at a college party._

Kerry just shut her eyes.

"This is boring."

"Yeah, I don't like Blake much either," I said.

"No, I mean this whole thing. The project. This stupid creation..."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I can't do anything. And I certainly can't speak in front of the class."

I looked down at my socks. Nausea overwhelmed me for a second or two. I thought about Kerry and I, standing in front of the whole class - Jeff with his cool, ironic attitude, and Adam with his satisfied smile, and Mr. Probst who wanted to see masterpieces - and I sighed. If I didn't faint, I would start weeping.

"I'm sure there's something you can do, Char."

"The only thing I can do is read. And play guitar."

Kerry jumped up from the bed.

"Char, that's right! That's what we're gonna do!"

"What?"

She picked up my acoustic guitar.

"You know how to write songs on that thing?"

I nodded.

"Write me one and give me a recording. I'll take care of the rest. You said the poem was about creation?"

I nodded again.

"Just write me a song as soon as possible."

_She's not thinking about performing a song in class, is she? And if I play the guitar, what does it mean? That she's going to sing? Kerry Bruno is going to sing to the Junior English class?_

_And I'm going to be a part of it?_

Kerry checked her watch.

"Oh shit, I'm going to be late. I'll see you later, okay?"

I walked Kerry to her door, still unsure of what had happened.

_1) You agreed to go to a party with college students._

_2) You agreed to write a song for an English project._

_3) You were condescending about both music and literature._

"Wait..." I said as Kerry put on her boots. "What kind of beat do you want? What kind of mood?"

Kerry just shrugged and zipped up her leather boot.

And my mother walked in.

"Charlotte, honey?"

I rolled my eyes.

"In the living room."

_Peggy Johanssen: long curly chestnut hair in tight bun on the nape of her neck. Immaculate white blouse and a brown jacket that is obviously too tight for a figure that has recently started accumulating pounds. A stressed face that relaxes into a friendly smile when she notices Kerry Bruno putting on her boots on the couch._

"Charlotte, you hadn't told me you'd be having a friend over today."

"She was just about to leave," I said coldly.

"Hi," Kerry said. "Bye."

Paying no attention to what she had said, my mom exclaimed:

"You're Lyman and Louise Bruno' daughter, aren't you? How _are _you?"

"Yeah, Kerry... Uh, I'm fine."

Kerry was evidently feeling uneasy, but my mom, of course, in her usual oblivious manner, went on.

"I know them from your mother's charity work at the hospital. It's so nice to have volunteers who organize parties for us. And your father's donation of sports goods to the pediatric wing was very much appreciated."

Kerry just nodded and grabbed her purse and her jacket. _All out-of-rehab look erased. Just an air of vulnerability, like a rabbit that is being tracked and trapped in a corner. With no possibility of escaping._

"I haven't seen them in forever, though." My mom's monologues always went on and on and on. "How are they?"

"Um. Fine," Kerry repeated. "Um, Mrs. Johanssen, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I've got to go, now. I have to be home in ten minutes..."

"Sure. Say hi to your parents for me."

"I will." Kerry was now the epitome of the good daughter, but she sounded like she was completely frightened. "Bye, Char. See you in school," she added nervously.

And she flew out the door. Disappeared.

"I didn't know you were friends with Lyman and Louise's daughter," my mom said lightly.

I turned to her.

"Mom, you really don't have a clue, do you?"

xxx

_Vanessa and I haven't talked since the Stanford episode. That is to say, a week and a half. I figure she'll come round sooner or later. I have been thinking of apologizing. But I didn't._

_I don't have to apologize for being a teenager._

The stairs leading to the auditorium were always quiet in the morning. Only theater freaks hung around the auditorium, and they were always coming to school late. At this time of the day, it was deserted, save for my own skinny ass sitting on the last stair.

And now, Vanessa's own sturdy bottom, slowly approaching. I pretended not to notice and kept reading. _A Room of One's Own_. A book that confirmed that I had been right in decorating my room according to my own tastes.

"Charlotte, you've got to help me."

_Classic Vanessa Pike. Straight to the point. Not embarrassed with futile things like apologies and justifications. Friendship is an acquired relationship that remains, even when it is strained. I don't have a say in this. I'll be Vanessa's friend as long as she decides that this is who I am._

I closed my book and looked at her. Seriously. Blandly.

"Thanksgiving is in one week."

_Apparently, Thanksgiving is catastrophic for everybody._

I could not help but make at least a little fun of her. I raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

"So... Uncle Joe's coming over and he's spending the night," Vanessa said impatiently.

"Oh," I said.

_Uncle Joe is actually Vanessa's great-uncle. He suffers from Alzheimer, which means that nobody but Uncle Joe himself appreciates the visit. He does weird things at night, like getting into his head that there is no more milk and that he should get some at the grocery store while still wearing his pyjamas._

"And Mal's bringing a friend from her school... This means that there's going to be twelve people in the house and I'm not sure I can face it alone."

"You won't be alone," I pointed out. "You'll have eleven more people with you to share the fun."

"Very funny, Char. Anyways, mom has re-arranged the room in a way that only she can comprehend, but the bottom line is, Mal, her friend and I have to sleep in the living room."

I raised another eyebrow.

"And how does this involve me?"

"Come on, Charlotte, you know Mallory. You know how she is, how she gets when she's home. And now she'll have a _friend_ with her, which is even worse. I don't think I will be able to bear it if you're not there to roll your eyes with me."

_What Vanessa is saying is the truth. Mallory is not just one of the Pike losers. She's queen of them all. She is dorky and she has the weirdest sense of humor that, I'm sure, only her posse at her private school understands. Plus, living with a bunch of girls for six years has turned her into a weird mix of nerd and girly. Which is, in my not-so-humble opinion, possibly the worst combination you could ask for._

I sighed. Deeply, to let her think that her request was bothering me.

"Alright. When is this Thanksgiving dinner?"

"On Sunday. You're not busy, are you?"

I snorted.

"Busy? Me? When am I busy?"

_Okay, I lied._

"Thank you ever so much, Char." Vanessa sounded sarcastic, but I could see the relief in her eyes.

"Not a problem."

xxx

_When one is about to throw up, there are at first a couple of waves of nausea. Salivation intensifies, and the tongue is locked down. The content of one's stomach is lifted up in the esophagus due to abdominal contractions. Then there is retching, and the content of one's stomach is evacuated through the mouth._

_I had the nausea, the salivation and the tongue. It was lucky I hadn't been able to eat all day._

"Hey, Char, cool guitar!"

Derek Masters fell into step with me as I was headed to English class. He pushed a lock of his brown hair out of his eyes and flashed me the ex-child star 100-watt smile. _He has a patent on that smile._

"I didn't know you played."

_It's just one of the many things you never cared to learn about me._

"Uh-huh," I said.

"Hey, rocker girl!" Shea Rodowsky called.

Guitar players always got way too much attention. It was impossible for me to walk to halls of SHS without being stopped by someone who wanted to touch, see or try out my guitar. And it was just my acoustic.

_This is why I try to keep my hobbies quiet._

I met Kerry in front of the class, a herd of people still following me and admiring the instrument on my back.

"Cool, so you got it?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak.

"We've got to talk and see if everything fits," Kerry said. "In private," she added, looking intently at my new fan club.

They didn't get the message.

"I know how to play 'Yesterday' on that thing," Shea said. "Can I show you?"

"What is it, boys? You've never seen a guitar in your life?" Kerry shooed them away with a scowl and the gang backed away, laughing nervously.

"Can I at least see the lyrics?" I asked after they were gone.

I had given, as promised, a tape recording of the song I had written for the occasion. It was a slow, but rhythmic tune that evoked the meter of 'The Tyger', but the way I hit the chords made the whole song sound angry.

"Have you changed anything since you gave me the song?" Kerry didn't answer my question.

I shook my head.

"Then you have nothing to worry about. My band helped me, I know how it's going to sound. Just as long as you keep the same tempo, we'll be perfect."

She shook her shoulders and arms, looking nervous.

"We'll be fine," she said.

Inside the classroom, it was chaos. There were clay statues on desk, students wearing costumes were putting up a last minute rehearsal of a play, and Adam had brought a portable tape player and was now playing a rap song at full volume. Mr. Probst was seated at his desk, smiling happily while reading a sheaf of papers. He did not rise until a few minutes after the bell rang.

"I take it you all know this is presentation day. We'll cut the crap and start now."

_It's so typical, teachers using bad words to earn their students' respect._

"Does anyone want to go first?"

"I do."

Kerry raised her hand, along with a couple of nerds. Mr. Probst looked surprised. I could have killed her.

"Alright, Kerry and Charlotte, then."

_Murdered. Strangled, hung, ripped, slaughtered, massacred._

But instead, I got up from my seat, sure I would wet myself in nervousness, and followed her up in front of the class. I sat on Mr. Probst's desk, my guitar resting on my knee, while Kerry cleared her throat. From the moment she started speaking, I just looked down at my chords and my feet, and pretended I was in my room, all alone. It was a good thing I didn't have to sing, or else, I would have thrown up in front of everyone.

"This is an original song titled 'Twisted Sinews'. Music by Charlotte Johanssen, lyrics by Kerry Bruno."

She cleared her throat one more time and started singing. I was so surprised, I nearly forgot to play.

_"My sinews are twisted_

_Cruel hand searching my rib cage_

_For the soul I don't know I have_

_I am not a flame_

_Nor am I symmetric._

_Then what is it you're tying down?_

_But your own failed creation."_

In the haze of the song, I could vaguely notice that the whole class had failed silent. Kerry's voice was throaty and vibrant. She was whispering her lyrics, but every word was distinct, and full of rage. You could almost see her heart palpitating in her throat.

_"A sinew twisted and I can never be perfect_

_Hours of pain will not change that_

_Yet you go on searching_

_For the doll you set out to create_

_I want to turn back on you_

_I want to be created anew_

_I want to restore my sinew."_

Kerry had screamed the last lines. I finished with the little solo and the class, struck, erupted in applause. I turned to Kerry and blinked my eyes. I had _not_ expected that.

Mr. Probst got up.

"Excellent, girls. You see, class, this..."

But Mr. Probst's speech was interrupted by Kerry, who suddenly pushed him out of the way and ran out of the class. Everybody started whispering among themselves, wondering where she had gone.

Only I had seen.

Kerry was crying.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

_Two parties in the same weekend. I must be getting popular._

_Well, it's a five-day weekend. Nothing to get excited about._

_Really, nothing to get excited about._

"Charlotte? Wow, you're all dressed up! Where are you going?"

_Damn. I thought she was working the late shift._

"I'm not dressed up," I replied shortly.

I was wearing tight ripped jeans and a black tank top underneath a black leather coat with a woolen collar I had bought at the annual church sale last year. (I suspected the coat had formerly been hung in Claudia Kishi's wardrobe, because it had sequins on the back that I took off, one by one.) Owning no high heels, I resorted to my good ol' Docs. I let my long chestnut hair hang loose (which was no different from my usual hairdo). Nothing to get excited about.

"You're going out, though, aren't you?"

_My mom never lets go._

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"Kerry's," I said, my hand on the knob.

"When are you coming back?"

"Sleeping over."

"Will her parents be there?"

"M-o-o-o-m! It's my first time ever going out to a place that isn't the Pikes' and you're giving me the third degree! No wonder I always stay home!"

My mom considered. And for the first time since I began having my period, she showed a tiny bit of understanding. She budged an inch.

"Goodnight, sweetie. Say hello to Lyman and Louise for me."

"Yeah."

And I was off the hook.

_Okay, so I'd lied a little. I wasn't sleeping at Kerry's, but at Kerry's boyfriend's friend's apartment. But I was meeting her at her place, so technically, it wasn't a full lie._

Despite the cold weather, Kerry was waiting for me outside, sitting on her porch. Like me, she was dressed all in black - short pleated skirt, black tunic, black and white striped tights and black Mary-Janes. All that underneath a black trench coat.

"What is it, a Johnny Cash theme party?" I joked.

"Huh?"

"Um, Johnny Cash? Folsom Prison Blues? He liked to dress all in black. Never mind."

_Lame._

I was nervous. I hadn't seen Kerry since our performance in English class; she had skipped the rest of the week and had only phoned briefly the night before to tell me when and where I should meet her. Now that I had her in front of me, I had to resist the urge of bringing up our presentation. There are only so many ways to point out to your new friend that she cried in front of the whole class. So I said:

"We're showing up awfully early to the party. I thought no college party could start before 11."

"Oh, it doesn't start until 10. We're just showing up early to set up our gear. My band's playing tonight."

I suddenly panicked.

"Are you guys playing all night? All night long?"

_I imagined myself in a crowd of head-banging college students, my tank top drenched with spilled beer, and the face of a girl who is hoping for a power failure…_

…_and then wondered if I could stand to see someone playing the guitar without being able to join in._

"Oh God, no way! I've got to get drunk, and I'm not doing it on our so-called stage. What's-his-name the host doesn't have a proper stage; just a cleared out space in his living room. And besides, we don't have nearly enough songs to get us through an hour, let alone a whole night."

I wondered if I should be relieved that she was not going to be playing the whole party or worried that she planned on getting drunk.

"So, you haven't been together for long, then?"

"Not really… I joined three months ago, when I started dating my boyfriend. Before that, they had a band, but no singer… they were just jamming random stuff and getting stoned together. But my boyfriend says that, with my voice and the lyrics our bassist has been able to write lately, we're starting to sound pretty serious."

_Getting drunk? Getting stoned? Kerry's sounding more and more like my kind of person…_

_...I'm sure humanity could do a lot of meaningful things with the stick that's up my ass._

"Wait…" I said, trying to forget that I was going to a college party with a friend who planned on drinking her brains out, "did you write the lyrics yourself or did this band of yours help you? For our song, I mean."

"Wrote them myself," Kerry muttered, clearly not wanting to expend on the subject. "My boyfriend helped me with the flow of words and my singing, but that's all…"

She looked away while I wondered why she always referred to him as 'my boyfriend'. _Doesn't this guy have a name?_

"And we have a name, you know. We're Severin, Severin."

"From the Velvet Underground song?"

"Yeah. We all really like the band. And 'Venus in Furs', too, obviously.

"A song about sadomasochism. I like where you get your inspiration," I said with a smirk.

"Hey, we think the name makes some sort of statement about our influences, okay? And it's obscure enough to make us look cool and all musically educated, you know."

_Actually, the Velvet Underground is one of my favorite bands. They were Andy Warhol's band and they were pretty obscure back in the sixties, but lately, everybody's been claiming to have been influenced by them._

_I personally adore Lou Reed's voice and singing._

_Way better than the Duran Duran I listened to when I was a kid._

"But the Great Priestess of Guitar will have to see for herself before she can judge, I guess," Kerry said with a smirk.

"I am not the Great Priestess of Guitar," I protested.

"Come on, you rocked that presentation."

I shook my head.

"Without you, it would have sounded like nothing."

_The worst thing is, I'm right. Kerry brought soul to the song. She made it real. And I'm so not sarcastic, it's scary._

"Look, here we are," Kerry said quietly.

I had been expecting a tiny run-down apartment, but we were standing in front of a two-story stone house with a nice little garden full of wilted shrubberies. Parked in front of the garage was a dark green SUV. Apparently, college students didn't live in shabby places anymore; we were definitely in Suburbia.

"The guy's parents are out of town so he's throwing this huge bash. He knows everybody; he's like the president of the student association at Columbia or something. But this is a SHS reunion. Which means you're bound to meet people you already know."

"Like who?"

"How about your beloved Baby-sitters Club?"

"Oh my God." I rolled my eyes.

It was still very early – barely nearing on 9. The house was very quiet. Kerry opened the front door without knocking, a pretty bold move considering she didn't even know the guy's name. We stood in a sober but tasteful foyer. I started taking off my Docs, but Kerry gestured me not to bother.

"If you take them off now, you'll never see them again."

I followed her through a succession of small but well-decorated rooms. They were all empty and clean – nothing looked like a party was in the works. We finally heard voices after passing the dining room and saw, at the far end of a double living room, three people who were busying themselves with musical equipment.

I noticed the girl first. Not because she was the only girl there, but because she stood out. Her short bleached blonde hair was up in a Mohawk and she was wearing a lot of dark make up. Unlike Kerry, however, who just looked dirty, this girl seemed cold and distant, as if she were a model who had just stepped down a runway. She was wearing what looked like an authentic Vivienne Westwood vintage dress, with black and silver jewelry. She was adjusting the cymbals of a golden drum set.

The two guys were slightly less noticeable, but even from where I was standing, I could see they were both good-looking. The one who was standing and just laughing looked like a slightly nerdy student, with his brown corduroys, his white collared shirt and his dark-framed glasses. He was gesticulating with animation, pausing at every three words to push back a lock of black hair that was falling in his eyes. The other was barely reacting, rarely looking up from the bunch of cables he was trying to untie. He had long curly dark hair à la Jim Morrison, and was wearing ripped skinny jeans and a white Velvet Underground t-shirt. Concentrated as he was, his large mouth had relaxed into a sad pout, but he started smiling brightly when Kerry called out his name.

"Robert!"

Leaving me in the first half of the double living room, she ran to him and nearly knocked him over with a tight hug. He dug his face in her hair while she rested her cheek on his chest. He caressed her back and they kissed passionately. I looked down at my feet; the other girl starting hitting on her drum with one of her sticks; the nerdy-looking guy didn't stop talking.

It seemed like ten minutes before their kiss was over. Robert – _even though he's still 'my boyfriend' in my head _- slipped a proud arm around Kerry's shoulder and turned to the nerd.

"Pete, this is my girlfriend, Kerry Bruno. Kerry, this is Pete, my buddy from high school."

"Bruno? You Logan's sister?"

"Yeah."

"Pleased to meet you, Kerry."

Kerry shook his hand. I felt like a total stranger. I was even looking forward to Vanessa's Thanksgiving party. At least I was known at the Pikes'.

"Oh, Robert, there's someone I've got to introduce you to as well. Come here, Char."

I stepped forward.

"This is Charlotte, my friend from school. She's the one who wrote the song I made you listen to. Charlotte, this is Robert Brewster, my boyfriend."

"Hey, Char."

From a nearer distance, I could see that, despite Robert's 100-watt smile, he still had dark, sad eyes. The brilliance of his mouth did not communicate to the rest of his face.

"Hey."

"And here's Ashley, our drummer…" Kerry went on. "Ashley, what's your last name again?"

"Wyeth. Black, I need a beer."

She was as cold as she looked.

"Let me escort you to the kitchen," Pete said, bowing.

Ashley snorted, but followed nonetheless.

"Don't worry about Ashley," Kerry said nervously.

"She's never been exactly friendly. When she got here in seventh grade, everybody thought she was a total weirdo. She used to wear bell-bottoms with hiking boots and she only cared about art. Now she's much more relaxed, believe it or not," Robert added.

He, on the other hand, looked quite friendly, but when he started nibbling on Kerry's ear, I was suddenly uncomfortable again. Kerry got up on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear.

"Char, do you mind if we leave you for a couple of minutes? Robert and I have something to discuss upstairs."

_Right. Discuss._

"Hey, Char, I hear you're quite good with a guitar. Would you mind tuning mine? You would really do me a favor."

Robert's smile was so powerful, and Kerry's eyes so hopeful, that I found myself nodding with the hint of a smile myself.

"Pete and Ashley should be back soon…" Robert's voice was already trailing as they headed for the stairs.

"If you have any questions, ask Ashley… Pete's not in the band, I wouldn't expect him to know anything about music…"

And they were gone. And I was alone.

_Great, just great. My first party and I'm already the roadie. What will it be, next time? Selling merch in the kitchen? _

I spotted a black guitar case and opened it. Inside was a beautiful silver Fender, decorated with stickers of anarchy signs and old bands like The Doors, Pink Floyd and Queen. I quickly plugged it and started tuning it slowly. I figured the longer it'd take me, the longer it would take me to realize I had made a mistake by showing up.

"Hey, where's everybody?"

I hadn't heard him come in. I jumped and dropped the guitar; it hit the floor with a deafening sound. Timidly, I reached for it and strummed it slowly. I waited until my face stopped feeling hot to look up. A guy who looked about the same age as the others was grinning at me, hands on his ears.

"You scared me," I whispered.

Still grinning, he approached and squatted before me.

"What, pray tell me, are you doing with Robert's guitar?"

"Tuning," I breathed.

His hair was longish and disheveled, half covering his high forehead, and half sticking up in the air as though he had just woken up. Under this unruly curtain, two inquisitive golden eyes were peering at me. I breathed in.

"Wait… are you the infamous composer who is friends with Kerry? She mentioned she was bringing a friend to the party."

_I don't know about infamous and composer – hell, I'm not even sure about being friends with Kerry – but I suppose that's me, _I wanted to say.

So I said it:

"I don't know about infamous or composer – hell, I'm not even sure about being friends with Kerry – but I suppose that's me."

"I'm Trevor Sandbourne. Bassist and poet extraordinaire."

Kicked out by my audacity, my shyness was suddenly coming back in full force.

"Charlotte Johanssen."

"Say that again?"

"Charlotte Johanssen," I repeated louder.

"Identity confirmed. I loved your piece."

I blushed and, bending down on the guitar again, I tried to hit a decent so.

"So, where is everybody?"

_Everybody's having sex but me._

"Ashley and Pete are getting beers in the kitchen, and Kerry and Robert are doing God knows what upstairs."

"And they left you to do the dirty work. That's mean."

I shrugged.

"I don't mind…" I said even if it wasn't true. "This is a nice guitar."

"Yeah, you're holding the whole of Robert's possession in your hands," Trevor said mockingly. "Don't break it again."

"Material possessions are overrated."

_I'm possessed._

_That's the only possible explanation._

_How else would I be able to utter all the witty comments that go through my head all the time?_

Ashley walked in, holding two beers.

"Hey, Trev."

"Hi, Ashley." Still grinning, Trevor got up and hugged her. She didn't move, but she didn't pull away. I guessed this must have been her way of hugging people.

"Pete felt me up."

"I did not. She rubbed herself on me," Pete said, walking in with two more beers. "You want a beer, Trev? Charlotte?"

Trevor grabbed his beer while I shook my head.

"She's underage, Black," Ashley said coldly.

"So? So is Kerry. You sure you don't want a beer, Charlotte?"

"No, it's fine. I don't drink," I said quickly.

"You don't drink? Wait a minute… You're a high school student, you're stuck in boring Stoneybrook and you don't drink? How do you expect to get through life?" Pete asked disbelievingly.

_Oh, maybe that was the problem._

"Come on, Pete, give it a rest," Ashley said. "Not everyone's a filthy alcoholic like you."

"Yeah, you can speak, you cokehead."

"That was a _rumor_."

"Then how the hell did you get kicked out of the Art Institute?"

Ashley just shrugged. I noticed Trevor had taken the back seat and wasn't saying much. He just stood there, looking adorably boyish with his hands digging into his jeans pockets.

_Wait. There is something seriously wrong with me if I'm starting to use words like 'adorably' to talk about a guy._

_On second thought, there is something wrong with me if I'm starting to use the word 'adorably' at all._

xxxx

_I am delusional._

_People think I'm cynical, I say I'm realistic, but really, I am just as naïve as everybody else._

_I thought people changed after high school._

_To be exact, I thought people who went on to college changed, and those who stayed put remained the same._

_I now know the truth: people never change._

A flock of people poured in at 10, and even more so at 10:30. They all seemed tall and adult-like, with their packs of beer and their vodka bottles and their marijuana. They came in all dressed to the nines, showing off their fashion allegiance, be it weird, conservative or just down right slutty. Severin, Severin was due to play at 11, so Pete Black had put on some loud dance music. Already, packs of people were dancing wherever they could, and those who couldn't or didn't want to were getting drunk in the kitchen or in the living room.

I felt claustrophobic. I felt so small, I thought people would stomp on me accidentally. I hung near Kerry and Robert, near the stage and the instruments, where I felt most at home.

"Some party, huh?" Kerry yelled in my ear.

All this noise made it hard to say whether she was being sarcastic or not, but judging by her smile, she wasn't. I nodded. Non-verbal language is never committing.

"I'm going to get another beer before we play," Robert said loudly. "Want something, girls?"

"Yes, another vodka!"

I shook my head. Despite her plans, Kerry's elocution was still intact. Robert disappeared into the crowd and was soon replaced by Trevor. He smiled at me before turning to Kerry:

"What do we play after 'Sad Carnival'?" he asked in a panicked voice.

"Is it 'Retro Love'? Or is it the cover of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'?" Kerry didn't sound sure.

"Damn! I thought you knew…" He turned to me again. "We're more professional than that, usually… But this concert was sort of a last minute thing."

He shook his head sheepishly. Robert came back at that moment and handed Kerry her drink.

"Robert, do you remember the set list by heart? What do we play after 'Sad Carnival'?"

"I'm not sure… I thought it was 'Trigger Run', but…"

"No, 'Trigger Run' is what we open with." Trevor winked at me. "Thank God we only have eight songs."

"I think Ashley has the set list written down. We've got to find her," Robert said.

Trevor turned at once and Robert followed him. Kerry shrugged at me said:

"Duty calls… I'll be back after the set!"

And I was on my own. Just as I had feared: left to my own malfunctioning devices.

_Let's go home, Charlotte._

_Yes, let's go home._

_If you start developing multiple personalities, who all talk to you like we're one big group, it's time to go home._

"Charlotte? Charlotte Johanssen?"

Someone had joined me by the empty stage. She was rather small, with long jet-black hair pulled into two pigtails. Her face was very pale, her make-up very dark, and a piercing adorned her blood-red lips. She was wearing a black lace corset, a long black velvet skirt and black platform boots. It took me a while to recognize the sweet, caring face under the gothic costume.

"Mary Anne?"

"Yes, I'm Mary Anne Spier! I used to baby-sit you."

"Don't remind me," I said under my breath.

_But the Mary Anne I had known didn't even have pierced ears._

_Wait, is this a Halloween party and someone forgot to tell me?_

"Um… nice corset," I said.

"I know what you're thinking…" Mary Anne giggled, which seemed completely odd, considering the fact that she, well, was dressed all in black lace and leather. "What the h-word happened to Mary Anne Spier?"

She shrugged and I frowned further at the fact that she was embracing a culture that celebrated death, but refused to say the word hell.

"I fell in love."

_Love is dangerous. Love can steal your soul._

"I fell in love with Germany. I'm in my second year in German studies at Boston U and I absolutely love it. It was the German Romantic movement that did it for me." She sighed dreamily, no doubt thinking of Goethe. "People think Goths are all about being angry and hating everybody and staying out of norms, but that's not what it is at all. We emphasize freedom and beauty, and we see it in everything Mother Nature created, including death." Her voice became shakier and a tear left a black trail on her cheek. "It's an embrace of the powerful emotions you feel inside."

_Yeah, Mary Anne, your speech doesn't sound rehearsed at all._

"Sounds, um… great," I said.

Mary Anne was about to say something when a movement in the crowd pushed us forward. A girl elbowed Mary Anne in passing and she spilled her drink all over the girl's sneakers.

"Get out of my face, you freak!" the girl said before being swallowed by the crowd again.

I watched the brown ponytail disappear.

"Was that Kristy Thomas?" I asked.

Mary Anne nodded sadly.

"But weren't you guys best friends at some point?"

"Kristy always had trouble dealing with change," Mary Anne said, clicking her tongue. "Our relationship was shaky after I decided not to go to UPenn with her, but when I came back after the first semester, looking like _this_, well… She didn't like it."

I didn't know what to say.

"You don't look like you're having fun, Charlotte. Are you alright?"

I don't know why I confided in her. Perhaps because she was the only person around who didn't scream "Stoneybrook High School alumni".

"It's… not really my kind of party. I usually like… um, smaller things. And not being a college student and everything… I don't feel like I belong."

_Sincere. Honest. Straight-forward. That's more than what you've given Dr. Reese in a year._

"I understand, Charlotte, I really do." She leaned forward. "To tell you the truth, I'm a college student and I don't feel like I belong either. But I'm sure you didn't come by yourself. Who are you with?"

"I came with my friend Kerry Bruno but she's playing in the band and they've all gone… somewhere."

"I'm sure she'll be back," Mary Anne said gently. "Kerry wouldn't leave you by yourself all night. It's not her type."

Mary Anne spoke with unusual confidence.

"How do you know Kerry so well?"

"I don't know her _that _well…" Mary Anne blushed. "But her brother – Logan, remember him? – and I go way back… we dated in middle school and later, he became my best friend. In my Junior year, I was always at the Brunos'."

I nearly choked.

"You're friends with Logan? But he's…so not… I mean, he's… lacking a bit in the eloquence department, isn't he?"

"I know he's not the brightest guy around but he's got a lot of other great qualities… He's sweet and sensitive and caring… Besides, we shouldn't write people off just because they're not up to our impossible standards, should we?"

_Shouldn't we?_

"Anyways… I've got to ask you something, since you're friends with Kerry…" Mary Anne lowered her voice. "How is she?"

"She seems alright," I said without thinking.

I thought of the song and started doubting myself. In my own bleak way, I thought Kerry looked better than most. But who was I to judge? _After all, I write people off because they don't meet my "impossible" standards._

"She's going out with Robert Brewster," I said. "She seems happy when she's with him."

"Robert Brewster?" Mary Anne's eyebrows went up.

"What?"

"Nothing, it just never occurred to me that they knew each other," Mary Anne said hastily. "Hope they can help each other out," she said, mostly to herself.

I frowned.

"Why, is there something wrong with Kerry?"

"No… Not that I know of…" Mary Anne looked uncomfortable. "Things have been rough at the Brunos', that's all I know… Hopefully everything's back to normal, now."

I thought of how Kerry never invited me inside her house, how she avoided answering questions, how she planned on getting drunk, and concluded that nothing was back to normal. But before I could further question Mary Anne, Pete Black made his way to the stage and seized the microphone. Someone put out the music.

"Hey people! Welcome to my Thanksgiving party and I'm really glad to see you all old friends here for a night of fun in good ol' Stoneybrook! Thanks for celebrating the fact that we – well, most of us – no longer live here!"

_Hear, hear._

"Now, ladies and gents, I've got a really nice surprise planned for you… They're the most talented people to ever come out of Stoneybrook! They're right here tonight and ready to play some of their songs for you. Now, without further ado… Severin, Severin!"

Someone let out a loud whistle and people cheered, as Robert, Kerry, Ashley and Trevor walked to the stage area. They saluted to the enthusiastic crowd.

"Give it up for our host, Pete Black!" Kerry yelled, a real, honest, beaming grin on her face.

_I turned green. I know I did._

_How can you not envy someone who is that at ease in front of people?_

Kerry adjusted her microphone. Her voice came out ten times as loud as it did in the classroom.

"Heya, everybody! We're Severin, Severin and we're going to rock your socks off! This is our first song, 'Trigger Run'."

_Jealous. Itchy. Impressed. Moved._

_I felt everything watching them play._

Robert's riff sent the crowd dancing aggressively. Kerry began to sing with all her might, sometimes screaming, sometimes almost talking, but always with an emotion so raw you could nearly see it come up her throat. The audience was jumping up and down, kicking and screaming randomly along, making it hard for me to concentrate on the performance. Even Mary Anne's long pigtails were whipping the air around her as she banged her head. Kerry was encouraging them vocally, delivering every word with an energy I wouldn't even have thought existed. I caught a glimpse of Trevor, bent shyly over his bass, but nevertheless feeding off Kerry and Robert's violent notes. Ashley was just as cold as usual, but her drumming was quite good: she was discreet and efficient. I had never seen such a good amateur band in my life.

_But then, the only amateur band I had ever seen was that Christian rock band Becca had taken me to in seventh grade._

Sure, they made mistakes. Kerry sang from the throat all the time and she choked on the chorus of their cover of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'. Robert botched a couple of chords during one of their songs. Trevor had to play the intro to a song twice before the rest of the band caught on. But they were _good._

_For the first time in my life, I know I'm going to earn a good grade in English not thanks to me, but to my partner._

_And it will be totally deserved._

"This was our last song," Kerry announced in the microphone after they had finished playing a slow, hypnotizing melody. "Thank you!"

"Just a minute!" Trevor approached Kerry's microphone. "I have one request, if you don't mind. I'd like Kerry and her friend Charlotte to play one of their songs… It's called 'Twisted Sinews'."

Kerry covered the microphone with her hand, but everyone heard her hiss:

"Trev, no! I am never playing this song again!"

"Well, then," Trevor said, "can Charlotte come on stage and play with us for one last song?"

I died.

"Come on, Charlotte!" Kerry called.

"But I don't have a guitar!" I protested.

Robert passed the strap of his guitar above his head. I stepped over a small amp and joined Severin, Severin on stage. My hands were shaking. I didn't know how I was supposed to be able to play.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Charlotte Johanssen!"

The crowd cheered loudly again. _They were drunk._

"What are we playing?" I asked in a loud whisper.

"Anything you want," Trevor replied from his spot, smiling.

I tried to think of a song the whole band would know. I started panicking. I felt like the crowd was watching me, ready to tear me into pieces for not playing when they wanted to dance. I sweated and trembled and then… Then I had an idea.

I hit the chords. _Not the best choice, but it's my choice. Have a nice party, everybody._ Ashley caught on first, as she was supposed to do, and tapped on her drum with her hand. Kerry turned to me and frowned, but Ashley and I kept playing. And then she started singing:

"_I don't know just where I'm going_

_But I'm gonna try for the kingdom if I can_

_Cause it makes me feel like I'm a man_

_When I put a spike into my vein_

_And I'll tell you things aren't quite the same_

_When I'm rushing on my run_

_And I feel just like Jesus's son_

_And I guess that I just don't know_

_And I guess that I just don't know…"_

It wasn't the same, in a crowded living room, where students full of life and dreams were drinking themselves to oblivion and undulating slowly to my guitar as though we were playing notes of love and ecstasy, not a story of total and utter self-destruction. _Somehow the joke was lost on them._

And then Kerry went on:

"_Heroin, be the death of me  
Heroin, its my wife and its my life  
Because a mainer to my vein  
Leads to a center in my head  
And then I'm better off and dead  
Because when the smack begins to flow  
I really don't care anymore  
About all the jim-jims in this town  
And all the politicians makin crazy sounds  
And everybody puttin everybody else down  
And all the dead bodies piled up in mounds_

_And I'm quite happy to say I broke the party right then and there._

xxxxx

_My fingers are red and painful. I clutched the pick so hard that its pattern must be embedded in my fingerprints. My legs are still shaky. I have difficulty breathing._

_I played on a stage in front of college students. I played in front of an audience. I am a musician._

In my own quiet way, I was too ecstatic to remain in place. After Severin, Severin had saluted and refused to play an encore – they didn't have any more songs rehearsed, and anything they'd play would make everybody's ears bleed, Kerry claimed – I no longer thought of going home. I felt exactly the way I had felt when we had cut classes to take a road trip; elated, alive. I wanted to jump around, too, but this only manifested itself by being somewhat more energized as I elbowed my way to the kitchen.

Kerry had deserted me _again_, this time to spend (more) quality time alone with her boyfriend. I didn't mind. I wanted to be on my own. I wanted to watch the crowd and learn. I wanted to savor these sensations of triumph I had.

_This is what life should feel like._

_This is what life should be, standing on a stage playing music and being every fiber of yourself._

_Not standing up in line and bending to fit in and having yourself stepped on for the benefit of others._

In the kitchen was someone who didn't know at all what life should feel like. Throughout the concert, people had come in and out of the living room, with drinks or drugs, and the music had by no means stopped the general process of self-destruction. There were quite a few people who had trouble walking, and I had to keep out a sharp eye for puddles of vomit. It was like watching violence on TV, though: after growing accustomed to seeing so many people drunk, I no longer cared or minded.

The scene in the kitchen stopped me dead in tracks, though.

_There she was. The girl who had once been my role model. The girl whose life I wanted to share, more than anything in the world. The girl who I had called my "almost sister."_

_Dancing on the table._

_Lifting her top._

_Taking it off._

_And, in the course of making suggestive moves, banging her head on the chandelier above the table._

_Stacey McGill._

Drunker than Becca's aunt Cecelia at the Ramseys' last Fourth of July barbecue.

She appeared slightly dizzy after her head hit one of the brass branches of the chandelier, but she was still able to stand. Her blue eyes rolled slightly in their orbits and she looked straight at me. On her face dawned recognition.

"Chhhhharlotte!"

She staggered on the table in my direction and, with that complete lack of sense of danger that drunk people have, she made to dive to me from the table. One of the guys who were watching her caught her just in time and brought her down on her feet. She slipped a heavy arm around his shoulders and came face to face to me. She was still just in her bra. I looked away.

"Chhhhharlotte!" She tried to embrace me but I stepped back. "My almost sis… almost sister!"

She slurred more than she spoke. The guy who was supporting her smiled sheepishly, but his eyes were a little blurry; he wasn't completely there either.

"This… this is Rick… No, Austin… No…" she giggled stupidly. "This is my… boyfriend…"

"Alan," the guy completed.

"That's right, Alan! He's so di-dibble! I love Alan!" she kissed him on the lips with no modesty whatsoever.

I felt uncomfortable.

_Euphemism._

"Listen, Stacey," I began, "are you sure you're okay? I mean, with your diabetes and stuff… Do you want coffee?"

"This is a party! Everybody drinks beer!" she retorted cheerfully.

"Yeah, but…" _How the hell do you reason with people who are wasted beyond measure? _

I reached for the beer. I even got my fingers on the rim of the can. Stacey yanked it away from me and screamed:

"Hey, what do you think you're doing, you bitch?"

It was one of those movie moments, when the music appears to be turned off at the exact moment you want it to be as loud as possible. People turned to me. They glared. I was exposed. I was the intruder: I was the high school student who had tried to take a beer away from a member of their community.

Someone put a hand on my shoulder.

"She didn't mean it, Stacey, come on. But she's right. You should really go and try to get some sleep. You're going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow."

"Go to hell!" Stacey yelled.

"Alan, buddy, please help her." Trevor turned to me again. "Come on, let's get out of here."

He guided me gently through the crowded. _Just what I needed: a college guy with a knight-in-shining-armor complex._ But I followed him, because the general glare I received felt like the cannon of a gun pressed against the nape of my neck. He took me outside and sat down on the porch steps. We were flooded by the fluorescent spotlight that illuminated the path to the garage.

"Don't worry about her," Trevor said cheerfully. "She's used to it."

"Used to it?" I said in an indignant whisper. "She is borderline comatose!"

Trevor just laughed.

"Is this your first party or what?"

"Not if you count the birthday party I attended when I was seven."

I shivered. The stairs were damp and cold.

"You're so fresh, Charlotte."

"Oh please."

"No, I'm serious." Trevor indeed looked serious. He reached for my lips with the tip of his fingers. "Your pout looks like a child's."

_I am not even writing what this felt like._

"And that turns you on?" I managed to utter through the shyness that cluttered my throat.

Trevor laughed again.

"Okay, you think I'm a pedophile. But all I'm saying is that you look different from the other girls I know. You look different from Stacey."

"Thank God for that."

Trevor didn't add anything. He looked as if he were thinking hard.

"I mean, there's something special about you. I saw it during your performance. I don't know what it is, but it just seeps through your skin like… I don't know, like a liquid aura or something."

_Where the hell did this guy learn to flirt?_

"So you are really a poet, huh?" I said brutally.

_Awkward, awkward, awkward, awkward._

"Yeah…" Trevor shrugged. "Well, I don't know. I mean, I've been writing for as long as I can remember, but… I haven't written anything worth publishing yet. I find that songs are usually a better medium for poetry. I don't have to care so much about form, because somebody else is taking care of that. Sometimes, I find the format of poetry very binding."

"What about free verse? Or prose, like Baudelaire did?"

"It's the economy that is restraining. Sometimes, I feel words don't mean as much as they should."

"That's sacrilegious, what you just said. For a poet, I mean. You can't betray your means of expression."

_It's just wonderful, how the words flew from my mouth without any effort. _I felt as though my tongue had broken out of a shell.

"Guess I'm more of a songwriter, then." He lowered his head and his voice came out muffled. "And, as a songwriter, I'd like to put words on _your _melodies."

"What?" The word had slipped from my lips automatically.

Trevor peeked at me from under his fringe. He had a lopsided smile.

"I want you in the band. I want you to write the songs."

I struggled to keep the many questions that were battling in my head to be answered, and managed to utter the most important one:

"Are you serious?"

"Totally. I loved your song. You really have talent, Charlotte."

_It's the teen angst. It makes you do things that people disregard because you're not yet an adult, and you don't know better. But when you reach your thirties, you're suddenly past your prime and your creative genius can never be restored._

"But isn't writing songs Robert's job?"

Trevor shrugged. He looked a bit sheepish.

"You two could share the work. It's true that we only have eight songs. We could do with a lot more. And besides, Robert's ambition is not to win a Grammy."

"What is it, then?"

"I think getting out of bed before noon is ambition enough for Robert." Trevor laughed, but it sounded somewhat forced. "Anyway, what do you say?"

I thought about it. _The thrill, the music, the noise. The friends – possibly._

"What will the others say?"

"Kerry will be fine with it, and Robert will do anything to make her happy. As for Ashley, even if she doesn't want you in, she's outnumbered so there. Consider yourself our new lead guitar."

"O…Okay."

Trevor extended his hand. I looked at it.

"Welcome aboard," he said, thrusting it forward. I understood he meant for me to shake it.

"Thanks."

I briefly held his hand in mine, hoping that he wouldn't notice the clamminess of my palm. Trevor resumed his former position, arms circling his knees, chin resting on his bicep. I tightened my jacket around me. It was beginning to feel cold, and yet, the warm crowded house had never seemed less appealing.

"I guess we should go back in," Trevor said. "You're shivering."

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, but we've got to tell the band about your decision. And then we can truly celebrate."

He stood up. I noticed he was lean and tall, but not gangly like the boys in my class. _A man, already._

"I'm not sure I want to," I said.

"You can at least have a beer. It won't kill you, will it?"

_It won't kill me but that doesn't mean I have to turn into the cliché of the American teenager either_

I followed him inside. After the cold quiet of the porch, the house seemed too bright and too loud. Wincing, I put my hand on Trevor's shoulder as he made his way through the crowd. We walked incognito to the staircase – the incident with Stacey seemed to have been forgotten. Then, as we climbed, a terrifying thought occurred to me.

"Wait, we're not going to walk on Robert and Kerry doing something I'd rather not see, are we?"

"Don't worry," Trevor replied with a grin. "They should be about done by now."

The second floor was much quieter; the doors were all closed and the corridor was deserted, save for three people sitting on the floor.

"What's going on?" Trevor asked.

Ashley pointed the door next to her.

"Kerry's sick."

"Figures."

Trevor sat down in front her. I stood uncomfortably. Pete, who was sitting on Ashley's other side with his arm around her shoulders, tossed something at Trevor.

"Here, man, I saved you one."

"Thanks."

Robert, who had been silent and pale-looking, moaned and lay down on the floor.

"Charlotte, do you want anything?"

"Um…" I glanced at Trevor.

_Since when do you care about appearing uncool?_

"Hey, Char, I was just messing with you earlier. You don't have to drink if you don't want to. Besides," he went on, kicking on Robert's direction, "it's better if one of us stays sober."

"One of us?" Ashley said coldly.

"Yeah. I asked Charlotte to join us." Trevor shrugged.

_It's just Charlotte; no big deal._

"Cool," Ashley answered, to my surprise.

"How did he get so drunk anyway?"

A horrible retching sound came through the door. Robert, holding his head, slowly sat up. He looked awful.

"Never mix… An' tha' mes' just fucked me up…" I could barely make out what he was saying. He knocked on the door. "Kerry, you awright?"

The door opened. Kerry's face was sweaty and pale.

"I'm fine." She sat slowly and put her head on Robert's shoulder. He seemed to sink under her weight, as though he didn't have the strength – or the presence of mind – to support her. "Char, heard you joined the band. Congrats."

"Thanks. How do you feel?" I whispered.

"Like crap."

"Figures," Trevor repeated. "You're going to have to find a way to hold your liquor, young lady."

She grimaced. I wonder if this was what the band experience was about: hanging out in a corridor in the dark, waiting for people to sober up.

Ashley stood up.

"I'd better get the girls home."

"Good idea," Trevor approved. "It's early, but parties always finish early when Kerry's around."

"Robert's not any better," she mumbled.

"That's why I'm going to take him home too," Trevor said.

Trevor and Pete helped Robert up. Ashley supported Kerry. Together, they all made their way downstairs. I rushed forward to clear the way.

_Or maybe _this _is what it's all about. Supporting each other through drunkenness._

The cold air seemed to have a cleansing power; Kerry barely staggered to Ashley's car. She hugged Robert briefly and got in. Pete settled Robert inside Trevor's car while he warmed up the engine. I was about to climb in when he called my name.

"Charlotte, wait!"

I waited by the open door.

"I just want to tell you that we'll be rehearsing next Tuesday. Will you make it?"

I nodded.

"Cool." He pressed my arm gently. I became numb. "Really glad to have you in the band."

"Th-thanks," I stammered through my chattering teeth.

"I better go before Robert gets sick in my car. See you!"

I climbed in. Kerry was asleep. Ashley was silent. I didn't say a word either. In fact, Ashley and I barely exchanged a word as she showed me to the bed she had made on the living room couch. Kerry was already curled up in a ball on the floor.

I lay in my bed, my heart beating fast. I wasn't sleepy, even though the clock on the VCR indicated 2 A.M. My arm was throbbing right where he'd…

A tiny whisper came from the floor. Kerry was awake.

"He likes you, you know."

"Kerry, you're drunk," I said, my voice too loud in the silence of the house. "Go to sleep."


End file.
